The Way to a Man's Heart
by endsoftime
Summary: Sanji and Zoro have a nice little thing going...maybe...okay, so maybe not. But whatever they do have is about to crumble, all over one little, insignificant detail: Love.
1. Prologue: A Sworsman's Analysis

**TITLE:** The Way to a Man's Heart

**AUTHOR:** endsoftime

**RATING: **T

**SUMMARY**: Sanji and Zoro have a nice little thing going...maybe...sorta...okay, not really. But whatever they have is about to crumble, all over one little, insignificant concept: Love.

**Prologue:** Stuff About Love, and Other Annoying Shit: a Swordsman's Brief Analysis

It was wearing on Zoro's last nerve

It was wearing on Zoro's last nerve. He was sick of the stupid love-cook and his fucking mind games. He wouldn't mind it so much if the prissy bastard wasn't so damn inconsistent. It hadn't even been his idea in the first place!

Sanji'd been the one who crawled into his hammock, tearing off the swordsman's clothes like he was gonna fucking die! Zoro even tried to shove him off; the dumbass must have been drunk, and obviously thought the half-sleeping man was the navigator, in which case the cook must have been exquisitely sloshed. It wasn't easy to mistake Zoro's physique for a woman's. Or anyone else's, for that matter.

But despite all of the green-haired man's attempts to dislodge the gasping, clinging cook from him, Sanji just held on tighter, nearly suffocating him. His long fingers grasped spiked hair and wrenched Zoro's head back.

"Knock it off, Marimo-head," he panted angrily. There was a strange gleam in Sanji's one visible, blue eye; sort of manic, and unbalanced, and something a little…harder to place…it looked sort of like…

The swordsman growled. "What the fuck are you—"

"Shut up!" the cook said. Then he shoved his trembling mouth to the other man's frozen lips.

Oh...so it had been lust in his eyes. That pretty well explained it.

And that had been that.

Zoro never really marked the calendar, but he figured they'd been screwing for two months now. And he had never wanted to kill that curly-eyebrow bastard more. He didn't mind the screwing. It'd never really been part of his schedule before, but he found it an interesting and enjoyable addition to the usual routine. But...he couldn't deny that it was more than that. At least for him. Zoro was a disciplined, dedicated, and no-nonsense man (most of the time.) Point was, he never did anything without putting his whole heart and soul into. If the swordsman couldn't give his everything for a cause, he refused to engage in it. So the mere fact that night after night he rolled off the scrawny bastard, his heart thudding like a hammer, his tan skin slick with sweat and...other things...it should have been evidence enough that it wasn't just a random fuck...that it meant something to him...that it was important to him...that he was...

But Sanji thought differently.

At least he acted like he did.

Sometimes.

Oh, the asshole was affectionate enough right after they finished. In the dull hum of afterglow, he'd stay cuddled up to the larger man's broad chest, drawing lazy circles in the sweat that glistened on his hard body, or lightly kissing patterns down his arm. One would think the damn cook had found the love of his life, the way he carried on. But any fantasies of a somewhat more wholesome nature that Zoro might have entertained were quickly snuffed out once the post-orgasm high wore off and reality started to play a factor once more.

Sanji would roll away, maybe a little faster than was necessary. He'd fish for his carton of cigarettes, taking a few extra snaps of the lighter to get the flame going. He'd light up and take quick, deep gulps of the death smoke. He was always twitchy after sex.

But he'd wait. He wasn't enough of a vindictive bastard to kill Zoro's afterglow with a blunt fatality. He'd take it slow, and let the pleasant haze bleed out agonizingly into a pit of disappointment and coldness. Actually...Zoro wasn't so sure which sounded like the better prospect, anymore.

Sanji would wait until he had his pants done up and his rumpled, silk shirt draped over his slender shoulders, still unbuttoned. By the time his shoes were on, the odd vibrating in the small of his back that Zoro could always feel, even when the cook was on the other side of the bed, would have stilled, and cigarette number three was tucked in the crook of Sanji's thin lips more casually than the others. He always smoked like a chimney after sex. Partly the orgasm. Partly the nerves. But Zoro knew the real reason for the anxiety. It wasn't like Sanji was very subtle about it.

Just in case Zoro ever got the crazy notion that the cook had any spine, Sanji would always prove him wrong by reciting the same mantra. It came every night, without pause or fail.

"It's just a distraction," the cook's smooth voice would murmur. "Don't tell anyone."

The room was always dark when he said it. Or if it wasn't, his pale, toned back was all Zoro would ever see. Which was fair enough; it wouldn't help his hard ass reputation at all if Sanji managed to see the face he pulled whenever the cook said that. It wasn't even a conscious thing. Zoro's face just spasmed out of control: a disgusted, slightly pissed sneer that did nothing to hide the crushed delusions in his mind.

But Zoro never let on. He'd just grunt noncommittally, which was all the response the cook seemed to need. Then he'd stand from the bed, button his shirt, and remind the green-haired man — as though he could even forget, by that point — to give him a twenty minute head start before emerging. He was so fucking routine. More than once Zoro had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the dumb bastard.

Frankly, he didn't give one good goddamn if the crew knew.

Sure, they might rib the two, and purposely make things awkward. But they would never actually judge them. That's how nakama worked. But either Sanji didn't know that, or he didn't buy it, because he insisted on utter secrecy in their little affair. And at first Zoro was all for it.

At first, it had been a distraction.

Well, mostly.

Okay, so maybe it never had been, but the point was, two months into it and Zoro wanted to kill something. Or rather someone. And he knew exactly who that someone would be. The great irony, though, was that the one man whose neck he so longed to break was also the man that he always wanted by his side. Zoro thought he'd heard of something like that, before. There'd been an old lady at a tavern a few islands back that'd blathered on about how she pined for her dratted husband, and how much she'd like to smash his head in with a shovel. Seemed like the same basic principle. But what had she called it...

Oh yeah.

Love.

It took only two months to figure that out. Zoro wasn't stupid (contrary to the beliefs of one goddamned annoying cook), and he wasn't totally without emotion, like he tended to act. He could figure things out very quickly once he decided it was worth his time think about it. Not that he'd had much of a choice in this case; he always thought about the demon-chef.

No matter how many times he tried to shake the other out of his head; no matter how many curses he seethed or how much he tried to convince himself it wasn't important...it was pretty much useless. Sanji held Zoro's attention with the same mindless persistence the asshole demonstrated in every other aspect of life.

There wasn't a single facet about him that wasn't logged away in the swordsman's mind: the feel of his smooth, tight skin stretched taught over firm muscles; the light tickling sensation as his silk blonde hair swept passed Zoro's neck; the way his thin, soft lips pursed as he grinned around a cigarette; the mischievous glow in his blue eye that was the exact shade of the ocean on a clear, sunny day.

Yes, Zoro knew exactly what he was feeling. And he wasn't horrified or disgusted or even slightly surprised. He knew from the moment he laid eyes on the cook that he'd cause some trouble for him. True, Zoro never actually expected something like this to happen, but he rolled with the punches life threw at him. The thing a swordsman must understand is that knowing how to fight means nothing without knowing when to fight. And Zoro had had plenty of experience with Fate fucking him over; he'd learned by now that brawling with her was a complete waste of time, and he wouldn't get any stronger for it. But Sanji...

That stubborn bastard would fight his own shadow if he thought it'd make some broad happy.

Yeah, Zoro was in love, and he figured he always would be. It was just his shitty luck that he fell for a guy like Sanji. A guy who was only interested in Zoro for a quick fuck, but ultimately sought the companionship of a woman. A man who, in no uncertain terms, hated Zoro with every ounce of his being; hated him, his personality and everything he stood for. The only reason the damn dartboard-eyebrow hadn't poisoned his food yet was probably because Sanji had a formidable libido, and even less self-control than Luffy at an all-you-can-eat meat buffet. If that was possible. Eight out of ten times, it was Sanji who had to drag Zoro away from whatever important task he'd been engaged in (like training, or sleeping, or drinking sake) for a hurried release.

A man who would never, not ever, not in a million years, be able to love Zoro back.

And he couldn't do this anymore.

So with a strong resolve, Zoro decided to pull out of this fucking infuriating situation. Sanji was no more a fool than himself, despite how dumb he always acted. If he hadn't figured it out by then — hadn't even the slightest notion — then he probably wouldn't ever get it. And Zoro sure as hell didn't feel inclined to explain it. Zoro realized he was never going to get what he wanted out of this…whatever it was, and he wasn't about to let anyone take advantage of him.

Not even Sanji.

No matter how much he actually kind of enjoyed it.

Zoro was a swordsman. His whole life was about diligence and sacrifice. This wasn't anything he couldn't handle with a few cold showers and a hell of a lot of meditation.

Maybe going a week without food would help too.

Because what Zoro got in those frantic, private moments of late night or early morning was only a sliver of what he was really looking for. It was fake. And Zoro didn't have time for that kind of bullshit.

It might have been harsh, but he was Roronoa-Zoro-Goddammit.

He didn't fuck around with anything.

Not even love.


	2. Chapter One: A Cook's Wrath

**TITLE:** The Way to a Man's Heart  
**AUTHOR:** endsoftime  
**PAIRING:** ZoroxSanji  
**RATING:** R, but it is highly _highly_ suggestive, just so's ya know. Plus it's Sanji, which means naughty language x)  
**SUMMARY:** Now it's Sanji's turn to muse, and Christ is he ever nuts!  
**NOTES:** I do not own One Piece, I love Oda, blah blah blah. I don't know how long this thing is gonna be, but these next chapters are doozies.

**Chapter One — **A Cook's Wrath: A Treatise on Good Sex, Dumb Swordsmen, and Bad Relationships

* * *

He was cutting him off.

He was cutting him off. The bastard was cutting him off!

Roronoa Zoro was cutting Sanji the Black Leg off from sex!

On what fucking planet did that make sense? What kind of bullshit was this? And where the hell had it come from all of a sudden? One minute everything was fine; Sanji was getting regular sex, feeling better than ever, he had a spring in his step, and his cooking had been superb the last few weeks. Oh, and Zoro liked it, too. But now. Now!

What the hell was going on?

Fuck!

And it wasn't like the shitty marimo even gave him an explanation! No reason, no logic; just a "no." Sanji's brain shut down whenever he contemplated the pure "what-the-fuckery" of it all. Not like he thought about it all the time, but it was sort of annoying. This was the unthinkable. This had never happened before. It wasn't _supposed_ to happen! Zoro had always been willing; to the point that Sanji honestly wondered how the muscle-brained moron managed to get by before they started screwing. This little spat they were having was probably taking a heavy toll on him as well, and the thought of the perpetually frustrated Zoro did serve to make Sanji feel better. A little. But not as much as a good fuck would. Every now and then Sanji seriously considered just forcing the bastard regardless of what he felt like!

But no, the blonde thought with a sigh. He couldn't really do that.

He hated the marimo, without a doubt. But he didn't hate him enough to do that to him. However big of a dumbass he was — little more than a mannerless, unrefined brute, in Sanji's humble opinion — he was still nakama. Whatever the hell that meant. Sanji wasn't even sure, but he knew it meant something.

But he couldn't deny the tugging, nagging edge that had seen fit to arrest his brain recently. It wasn't anything big, though. Okay, so his hands shook a bit when he chopped vegetables for dinner. So his voice had developed a mind of its own, and started lashing out viciously and indiscriminately at the other male crew members without Sanji being aware of it, like terehtz. So his Noodle-Dance-of-Love that he dutifully performed while delivering dainties to the two dazzling females always stuttered and fell apart with splayed limbs and a sore backside if Sanji even _thought_ he glimpsed the tan, muscular man working out on the other side of the ship. So fucking what? It wasn't that big of a deal. Nothing Sanji couldn't handle….

…..six days...

Six fucking days.

Six fucking, never-ending, eternally frustrating, why-the-fuck-was-this-happening-to him, what-almighty-vengeful-god-had-he-royally-pissed-off, days!

Shit!

_Come on, Sanji! _he checked himself. _Just shake it off. I had an eight-month-long dry spell before we started fucking. I can handle a few days. Just until the thick-skulled asshole wakes the fuck up and quits acting like a little bitch!_

He lit perhaps his fifth, or thirty-fifth cigarette since being lucid that morning, and very briskly (jerkily?) went about preparing breakfast. He'd just pour himself into his greatest love, and forget the swordsman, forget the sex, forget how much he wanted to kick that bastard's goddamn green head in. Yes, that's exactly what he'd do; he'd just cook himself into a frenzy. He'd whip up some lovely, intricate delight for Nami-san and Robin-chan, like eggs Benedict, and maybe even give the guys some extra sausage for once. Except not that asshole; he wasn't getting extra anything! He should count himself lucky that Sanji was willing to give him anything at all! He should be on his knees thanking god that Sanji even deigned to consider the swordsman worth his while. Feh, taking sex away from Sanji, the White Knight of Love; like that green-haired asshole knew anything about love anyway!

Damn swordsman.

How dare he be so good in bed. Made Sanji want to snap his spine in half. Although, to do that he'd need the other man between his legs, first, and then by that point Sanji might start getting other ideas, and after all this fucking celibacy, he was beginning to think he'd rather fuck the bastard and then kill him later, but then if he killed him he couldn't fuck him ever again, and that left a sort of funny, hollow feeling in his gut, and he figured he —

Breakfast! Just focus on the breakfast! No more dumb thoughts of dumb swordsmen and the dumb things he did that were just...dumb! Think of how delighted Nami-san will be when she sees how hard he worked to make her the heavenly, gourmet meal that only she as a goddess of beauty deserved! She'd see all his love whipped into every fluffy inch of perfectly cooked egg, every swirl of cream in her fine hazlenut and cinnamon coffee. Think of the admiring smile that would grace Robin-chan's dignified, perfectly rendered face when she beheld the feast of love that he would offer her. Perhaps the two goddesses would finally realize the power of his adoration, and bestow on him their undying affection, as he was the only mortal man who even came close to being worthy of it.

Certainly no one else on this ship was, especially not slow, monosyllabic meat-heads with green hair that spend their entire day training, dreaming about training, or thinking about new and better ways to train. And stealing sake from Sanji's private store.

Asshole.

Yes, just focus on breakfast. Such a lot that needed to be prepared; so much that had to be absolutely perfect for his twin angels! Surely it would take such a very long time! How he hoped his lovely ladies wouldn't have to wait! But with all the food he was going to make, it would understandably require a large sum of the day. Oh, so much lovely breakfast. Soooooo much breakfast! Soooooooo...

Sanji looked at the galley table and realized, to his horror and crushing disappointment, that he was already done preparing the food. And it had only taken thirty minutes. No one would even be _up_ for another hour or so! He'd been so focused on focusing, he hadn't realized how quickly he was throwing breakfast together. Hopefully it turned all right; he wasn't totally sure all of what went into the bread dough. He prayed it wasn't anything dangerous.

Unless the marimo took a piece, and then he hoped a cyanide pill accidentally fell in. But knowing Chopper, the little expert doctor/emergency food supply would cure him so fast Sanji wouldn't even get a chance to admire the funny colors the other's face would turn, and watch as his body twitched around, sweating, kind of how he looked when Sanji rolled his hips faster, grinning, waiting, demanding Zoro's release...

Shit.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. It was just a distraction. Just a way to keep the edge off.

Like a cigarette.

A really fucking good cigarette. A cigarette that could light a flash furnace in Sanji's gut with a mere glance. A cigarette that trailed rough, strong fingers over his trembling stomach with deceptive gentleness. A cigarette whose scent spiraled in Sanji's brain, making his breath catch and his muscles jerk. A cigarette with a hot tongue and even hotter mouth that would travel to places Sanji wouldn't even show Chopper in a medical exam. A cigarette that could leave him a sweating, quivering, panting mess of pulsing nerves and swarming emotions. A cigarette with short, green hair that felt oddly soft when Sanji twined his long fingers in it and pulled that unbelievable mouth towards his...

No.

Absolutely not.

He was _not_ obsessed with that goddamned marimo. He did not _need_ the sex with him. He was _not_ addicted. It was just a distraction. Just a stress reliever. That's all it was, nothing more, and it never would be anything else, no matter how much Sanji...

He shook his head for the millionth time that morning.

"Why are you being so uncooperative?" He wasn't sure if he was asking his brain that, or the marimo. In any event, neither were around to answer. The asshole was probably still asleep, and his brain hadn't been awake from the start. It was still down in the boy's quarters, staring at that lump of lethargy like it actually gave a damn.

_This is so fucked up,_ he thought, leaning against the kitchen counter, staring morosely at his hurried meal. _When did this start? Why did I even decide to screw him in the first place? I guess I just reached my breaking point, and he seemed the most likely candidate. _

Sanji frowned just then. _But...why all of a sudden did my breaking point turn up? Three months ago, I was totally fine; I just waited 'til we got to port and settled matters at the nearest brothel. Not once had it ever gotten so bad that I thought about doing it with one of the crew...okay, except for Nami-san and Robin-chan, but not too seriously. Why had the idea to do it with nakama __—__ and him, besides __—__ even occurred to me?_

And then it came to him: that night in Pandina.


	3. Chapter Two: A Night Out

**TITLE:** The Way to a Man's Heart  
**AUTHOR:** endsoftime  
**PAIRING:** ZoroxSanji  
**RATING:** R, still, because I'm a wimp. It could get a an M, due entirely to Sanji's uncontrollable need to pepper all his sentiments with crude language, but it isn't as though you people would expect anything less from our favorite salty chef ;)  
**SUMMARY:** Sanji's continued thoughts about a certain swordsman and the grousing, dysfunctional thing they call a relationship.  
**NOTES:** Not mine, except the place Pandina. All mine, right there. Also, this is a fairly long piece, and it is exclusively flashback. None of this is going on in real time.

**Chapter Two** - Prostitutes, Cheap Booze, and an Insight or Two

The crew had docked in a small village on the edge of the Grand Line to make some emergency repairs to the Merry; the crew had gotten caught in a truly evil storm, and their beloved ship had paid the price

The crew had docked in a small village on the edge of the Grand Line called Pandina, to make some emergency repairs to the Merry; the crew had gotten caught in a truly evil storm, and their beloved ship had paid the price. The damage was too bad to keep sailing, so they dropped anchor in the nearest place they could find so Ussop could patch up all the holes. After checking with some of the natives, they discovered the Log Pose would take close to twelve hours to set; the crew found it as good a time as any to go unwind. It had been a good four and a half weeks since the Straw Hats had set foot on solid ground, and the normally happy-go-lucky crew was starting to not-so-happily contemplate acts of violence. A break from one another's company was in dire need.

Sanji had gone off solo that night, scoping out beautiful ladies and food supplies in the market. He always restocked the food whenever they made port, since there was no telling when the unforgiving Grand Line would give them another break. But out of the corner of his eye, the dutiful cook also made note of any gentlemen's clubs that might catch his fancy. He wouldn't be in town long enough to attempt charming any woman on the street — which, given the option, was what he preferred since it offered a challenge — so Sanji decided to keep his mind open to the possibility of a more temporary company. Another reason he took charming over purchasing was just that: if he worked his magic right, the former was usually free. And his Goddess of Money, Nami-san, didn't like it when he spent his money on women. She kept telling him it was because he did it at almost every stop, but he knew in his heart she was truly jealous.

Even if she had yet to realize it.

It was while he'd been prowling the edgier side of town that he happened across a seedy tavern. He glanced at the tilting structure with its sign nearly falling off, and listened to the shouts of profanities flowing from the door that didn't hang quit straight. He'd grinned and found himself wondering if the fucking marimo knew about this joint. It looked right up his alley. A gruff, run-down, piece of shit pub full of big, drunk bastards acting like hard asses in a desperate attempt to compensate for something.

Yep, sounded just perfect for that meathead.

That's when the pub door flew the rest of the way off its hinges and crashed to the ground in front of Sanji, accompanied by a formerly-conscious body. He looked from the mass of matted hair and ratty clothes, to the now open doorway of the tavern. A certain tall, green-haired man was adjusting the three swords that hung from his haramaki waistband as he reclaimed his seat at the bar. Sanji's grin widened.

Zoro was so pathetically predictable.

The baka-swordsman went back to whatever pig swill he'd been drinking, and Sanji noted with another vaguely amused smirk that the rest of the patrons edged a little further away from him.

_Morons_, Sanji thought. _They're just feeding the idiot's ego_.

He wasn't sure when he became aware of it, but eventually he realized that he was in fact walking into the pub. Perhaps the idea of bursting Zoro's tough guy bubble was too alluring to pass up. So he walked in, noting the cracks in the walls and the slightly off-center ceiling. The whole place stank of acrid smoke and cheap booze.

_Fuck, this sot can sure pick the shittiest bars,_ he thought with a disgusted sneer. He'd been too distracted with the offensive atmosphere, though. The refined cook was now almost upon Zoro, and he still hadn't worked out the perfect plan for reducing him to mere bitch status in the eyes of these equally pathetic drunks. Before he even knew what he was going to say or do exactly to piss off the marimo — before he even really reached the other man — a flurry of scarlet and black blurred Sanji's vision for a second. Only a second, but it was long enough for someone to have beaten him to the swordsman.

A suggestively-clad woman had swooped down on Zoro and latched herself very firmly to his muscular arm. Sanji halted quite suddenly; he had never seen a woman approach the marimo before. Usually they had the good sense and foresight to see a lost cause when it showed up, but this one was either drunk or — dare he think it — a little off. Either was a sound guess, since she remained unconcerned as the brainless oaf merely stared straight ahead and kept on drinking, taking no more notice of the lady than if she were a fly. In fact, Sanji suspected the oblivious asshole would notice a fly before he ever blinked twice at that woman.

The chivalry within the cook wanted to rush to the woman's aid and educate her on what a grave misunderstanding she had unwittingly blundered into…but a more mischievous side of Sanji was rather curious to find out how exactly the romantically-challenged swordsman would handle this sort of situation. So, he quietly backed up a few paces and took an empty seat around the corner of the bar, giving him a clear view of every move the marimo made. He even indulged in an uncustomary mug of ale (he assumed their wine would be shit, anyway) and sat back to watch the show play out.

The sight was pretty entertaining at first. The sultry woman was really pulling out all the stops: she batted her long eyelashes, whispering things close to his thrice-pierced ear, hugging his arm to her chest in a _very_ intimate way, and all the while ordering the rather silent man drink after hearty drink. This lady wanted something, and she wanted it badly.

And then he saw her small, pink tongue peek out from between her pouty lips and lick slightly at the bits of metal dangling from the other man's left ear-lobe. Sanji could hear them knock together softly but clearly above the deafening din from where he sat roughly thirty feet away.

And suddenly he felt like it had been a mistake to hang around.

There was something…slightly unsettling, and…awkward about seeing a woman act that sensually with Zoro. After all it was…well shit, it was _Zoro_, for fuck's sake. This sort of thing didn't happen. At least not to Sanji's knowledge. He told himself he'd feel just as weird about watching a lady put the moves on Ussop or Luffy — or shudder Chopper — but still. It just seemed wrong. And what bugged him even more was that he wasn't totally sure _why_ it was wrong. After all, Zoro was a grown man, and therefore was given to natural male urges. It wasn't _really _all that different from what Sanji had himself intended to do that night. But regardless of knowing that, Sanji was starting to plan the best way to make a very covert and sneaky getaway without drawing the swordsman's attention.

It didn't look like that would prove a very difficult task, however. Zoro hadn't shown a single sign of life other than breathing and drinking for going on five minutes now. He simply stared straight ahead, every now and then raising the mug to his lips and tilting his head back. Wherever the moron's mind was, it was no where near the pub at that moment. In fact as time went on — and no, Sanji hadn't been smart enough to duck out, yet — the cook became slightly…intrigued by Zoro's brooding demeanor.

Not concerned.

Like hell Sanji would ever be _worried_ about that asshole. He was just mildly curious as to what his fucking problem was. It wasn't often that he saw that look on Zoro's face anymore: that distant, resigned, unfeeling sort of look. It'd show up once in a great while when Sanji caught — _caught_, not watched — the swordsman meditating. It was a pretty good indication that whatever was on the man's mind was not pleasant, and he didn't want to talk about it. Not that he ever wanted to talk about anything, anyway.

But Sanji had seen it full-blown only once. An unending hopelessness, and a grim acceptance of failed dreams and shattered fate. He'd only seen it once.

When Zoro fought Mihawk. And lost.

The only time Sanji had ever seen him lose. The thought of that look, and the blood that consequently followed, still made Sanji's hair bristle slightly, and a small cold thing slithered quickly through his gut.

The cook was a romantic, and a chivalrous knight at heart. This was true, and he was proud to admit it. He would fall shamelessly and passionately in love with any woman he saw. He offered his heart up on a platter on a daily basis, and felt it his sworn duty to protect delicate women whenever the occasion arose.

But he was now seriously contemplating shoving the harlot away from Zoro.

It wasn't because of anything…weird that he was feeling…not like he wanted to _protect _that goddamned muscle-head or anything, but…shit he was nakama, sort of, and he had to look out for his fellow crewmates. And besides, with that ugly mood, the baka-bushido might snap the woman's neck if Sanji didn't do something.

And…that fucking look…he didn't know what she was saying or doing or if she was even playing a factor in why that damn expression was still on the other man's face, but she sure as hell wasn't helping anything. And Sanji just wanted…what the fuck did he want? He wanted that look to go away.

But before he'd developed a plan for saving the asshole — before he could even figure out _why_ he felt he had to in the first place — the woman apparently decided it was time to up the ante. It must have been a split-second verdict, because Sanji barely had time to blink before the move was made. And what a move it had been…

In a whirlwind of fabric and teasing thigh, the woman had hoisted herself on to Zoro's lap, took his face in her dainty hands, and drew him into a deep, full, and demanding kiss.

Sanji's fingers went numb; the mug in his hand dropped with a jarring noise on to the bar's grimy counter.

And then, inebriated and unaware of present company, Zoro placed his large hands roughly on her narrow waist, and, without hesitating a second, he…he kissed her back. Honestly, and in every meaning of the word; the swordsman moved in on her with as much intensity, if not more. He kissed her like she was the fucking love of his life!

He kissed like a pro.

Well…it looked like it, anyway. Not that Sanji was grading him on his performance but…_shit_ the goddamn marimo looked like he knew what he was doing.

_Just what the fuck is he doing?_, Sanji's startled brain wondered. _This is...it's…I mean, I don't…WHAT THE FUCK, RIGHT NOW?!_

The cook was unable to make a truly coherent thought in his head; too many things were whirling around too quickly, and he couldn't focus on a single damned one of them.

_Who the hell does she think she is? What is she after? It can't be his good-looks __—__ not unless you like the big, clumsy morons with way too many muscles…although I've seen him fight, and his swordwork is pretty smooth, and he's surprisingly light on his feet despite those gigantic, clunking boots, and he does move around a bit fluidly, but he's got green hair, for shit's sake, isn't that kind of weird…okay, well maybe people find it exotic, or something, and the spiky cut makes it look sort of like grass, but soft grass, like right after a rain, not that parched shit, but earrings on a guy are just dumb, I don't care if it's supposed to be some dumb-ass symbolism 'cause the marimo uses three fucking swords, big fucking deal, it's still stupid, but I guess the gold-ish metal looks sorta kinda good, y'know, next to the tan skin, 'cause it's all about darks and lights contrasting, and other such bullshit, but it's an okay image, I guess it works for him, but those fucking muscles, shit, there's way too many of them, why the fuck would anyone want to be with a guy too built to even move properly, except that he is taller than average, so he carries the bulk fine, maybe, so it doesn't look so obtrusive, especially his forearm, with those deep indentations where the muscles show, but don't bulge, just the right amount of definition, and the same with his neck, like the cords there just protrude enough to stretch the tan skin tight and firmly, and it looks sort of odd under her softer, pale hand__—__WHERE THE FUCK IS HER HAND GOING!?_

The flooding, nonsense-thoughts in Sanji's brain came to a screeching halt as he watched, mouth hanging open, as the buxom woman's hand slid slowly and purposefully down the swordsman's muscular neck, over his hard chest, and traveling lower still, reaching now his stomach, his side, his waist, his…..pocket?

Sanji frowned as he saw that small, lithe hand move in teasing circles around the area he imagined — but not at length! — Zoro's hip to be. And as the hand arced slowly and lingeringly, it traveled down; dipping back up from time to time, but always heading south, towards the fold of trouser that was the marimo's slightly open pants pocket.

_Holy shit!_, Sanji thought, his eyes widening for the fiftieth time that night. It was a good thing he'd given up drinking that mug of ale; otherwise most of it would have ended up sprayed all over the counter and his suit. The cook wasn't entirely sure he could withstand anymore surprises that night; his heart was thudding slightly.

_Holy shit,_ his brain supplied again, _the little tart is trying to rob him! So _that's _what she was after!_

And for reasons he could not, and probably would strive his entire life to never understand, Sanji felt relieved by this new revelation. His long fingers sought the smooth wood of his mug, just for something to hold onto. Tilting his head down, he frowned slightly at his golden-brown reflection staring up at him from the alcohol.

_I should stay away from this shit. It makes my head funny…maybe the bastard marimo was right when he said I was a light-weight…_

The fucking marimo! He was getting robbed just then!

_The fuck am I doing staring at my drink? The asshole's too far gone to notice what she's doing!_ _But why am I so goddamned concerned? He's nakama, right? Can't let nakama get robbed under my nose. But this would teach him not to give in to every woman he…wait, no, that's me I'm thinking of. Seaweed-head's never let a woman do this to him before, why the fuck would he start now?_

_Unless…he really isn't…_

Whatever the baffled cook had been thinking was stricken from his mind when he realized, with some amount of relief, that the woman's wandering hand had been stayed by the swordsman's much larger one. The passionate make-out session ended abruptly just then; the two of them moved about five inches apart and sort of stared at each other.

But Sanji expected the uncouth asshole to simply chuck the pick-pocket to the floor, like his demeanor so suggested he would. He was shocked — yes, again, and his blood pressure was getting worrisome — to discover both Zoro and the woman grinning at each other. The woman, Sanji couldn't see too clearly; his best angle was really of Zoro's face, and a narrow slice of her profile. But the look on Zoro's face alone was enough to give the cook's poor, overworked nerves another good rousting.

Sanji wouldn't really call it a kind grin. It wasn't actually a grin at all; more of a cocky smirk. Not all that friendly, either. He'd seen this look before, too, but unlike the darker, more detached brood of earlier, Sanji had encountered this particular expression more times than he ever cared to. Whenever this smirk was directed at Sanji, it tended to result in him trying his damndest to put his foot through the asshole-swordsman's skull. He'd had little success up to that point, but he was still holding out hope.

It was a mocking kind of sneer that Zoro always wore when he was confronting an enemy that he already knew he'd beaten. It was meant to say, "Back the fuck up out of my space, 'cause you aren't worthy to share the same air current as me."

And this enemy, like so few before her, actually got the hint. What little of her grin Sanji could make out seemed to suggest, "I know when I've been beat."

The woman laughed slightly, a bit of her cheek glowing red. "Guess I better shove off," she said.

Zoro's eyes narrowed, but the smirk remained in place. "I think that'd be a real good idea."

"Can't honestly say I didn't enjoy it," she said, quickly running her previously wandering hand through his short, green spikes.

"Can't honestly say I share the sentiment," was his blunt reply.

She gave another breathy, anxious laugh, slid from his lap, and hurriedly made her way from the pub without a backwards glance. Sanji caught a pretty good look at her face as she passed; for a woman who was obviously seasoned in this line of work, she seemed awful embarrassed at getting caught. That's what it had to be.

That was the only explanation Sanji would allow.

He refused to accept the possibility that the baka-bushido was _actually_ that good of a kisser. It was utterly incomprehensible, not to mention bullshit.

But since the show was obviously over — and Sanji would be lying if he said he wasn't slightly relieved — he decided it'd be a good time for him to duck out also. Wouldn't do for the drunken asshole to catch him there and start interrogating him in the only way he knew how: with swords. And Sanji tended to find that Zoro was inexplicably harder to fight while the latter was inebriated. So dropping a few beri on the counter to cover his drink, which went mostly forgotten that night, the cook resisted the urge to glance at his crewmate and simply turned for the door.

In retrospect, Sanji figured he probably should have looked; it might have made him more prepared. Not for everything, because there are just some things not even a psychic can predict. But he might have been more aware of the fact that there was a rather solid body standing directly behind him as Sanji rose from his seat.

As it turned out, he didn't know this until he'd already headed for the door, and rather jarringly found himself obstructed. His head made an interesting _whump_ noise as it collided with someone's firm, hard shoulder. His hackles raised, the cook's head whipped up as he hissed venomously, "Oi, shithead, watch where you're —"

It was Zoro.

_Motherfuck, right now!_

And the swordsman didn't look too pleased, either, although Sanji was surprised to see the other man not quite as sloshed as he figured he would be; especially not given the dozen empty tankards he'd left behind. But, Sanji realized, he'd have to be somewhat lucid to have realized the little tart was picking his pocket. His dark eyes were bright, alert, but unexpectedly cool. He didn't say a word.

"Well, ain't this an unpleasant surprise," Sanji drawled as calmly as he could, trying to act as though he _hadn't_ just stared avidly as the swordsman tongued some whore, who then tried to rob him. "I didn't expect to find you here."

Which, debatably, could have been the stupidest thing Sanji was capable of saying. It wasn't surprising at all that Zoro was here; in fact, it was far stranger that Sanji, with his refined tastes and high standards, was anywhere _near_ this shitty bar. And that meant he was only there for one reason: because Zoro was there.

Sanji was praying that the swordsman's lone functioning brain cell, aided by the extreme booze consumption, would render him incapable of figuring that out.

Whether he realized it, or even bothered to think about it, was a moot point; Zoro still said nothing. His dark eyes continued to bore a hole through Sanji's skull.

"What the fuck are you staring at, marimo?" the cook demanded, glaring. "Get the hell out of my way!"

And still. Still no reaction whatsoever out of the damn cabbage-head. He just kept staring, expressionless, unblinking.

He didn't know why, but Sanji slowly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Something was…off about this whole exchange. This wasn't how things happened. Shouts and curses and broken chairs and potentially lethal attacks; that's how things got settled between the two caustic nakama — reaction of _some sort_, at least! Not this fucking silence!

Suddenly, Zoro moved in; only about an inch or so, and placed his large hand on the bar top behind Sanji. His head tilted down a fraction, angling his dark eyes at just the right pitch to be truly intimidating. Perhaps not to Sanji, or rather not under normal circumstances. But tonight…tonight was different, for whatever reason.

Alarm bells went off in Sanji's brain, and he wasn't sure why. It wasn't the swordsman's slightly closer proximity; they'd slammed foreheads together during screaming matches in an attempt to further piss the other off on numerous occasions. Mere physical nearness wasn't enough to make Sanji concerned; it was mostly that look. Zoro may have appeared calm and more or less indifferent to the untrained eye, but Sanji could feel a strange tension rippling in the air, just below the surface. There was something in that look; something Sanji was pretty sure he'd never seen before.

And it made him nervous.

Not that he'd ever admit it, or anything. Like hell he'd give that asshole the satisfaction. But in the months that the cook had sailed with him, he'd never once been intimidated or cowed by that colossal, muscle-bound doofus, even when other people clearly were. Even when there was substantial evidence that this particular moron probably, sort of, in a way deserved to be feared. Where other, lesser men flinched and ran for cover, Sanji would merely flick his cigarette and charge with full ass-kicking intent. He had the swordsman's number, to a degree, and he knew the bastard had his. That's mostly why they fought: they knew the other could take it. But Sanji was quickly starting to realize that this was not their run-of-the-mill confrontation. This night was laced with all new agitation and pissed-offedness that the cook had never experienced.

For the first time in memory, Sanji didn't have a fucking clue how to respond.

And then the bastard smirked.

It wasn't good natured by any stretch of the imagination. It was taunting and sardonic; it mocked Sanji straight to the core. And usually, a look like that was grounds for Sanji's insanely powerful legs to take over, and use whatever force necessary to kick (literally) that goddamned infuriating look off the swordsman's smug face. To strike and block and push him back and dodge a deadly blade that swung through the air with no reservations, like liquid lightening in an impossibly controlled grip. To dance this violent dance that kept them sane, that fought off the boredom, that let off steam, that bound them together in an infinitely sicker and more profound way than any other members of the crew. A rivalry so deep it brimmed on outright hatred; a camaraderie so complete that they understood that underneath every breath and every tick and every grunt and every curse, there was an unspoken belief in that absurd word "nakama."

But this was not that. This was something different. This was raw and foreign. They were treading dangerously on unfamiliar ground. Ground that, to Sanji's muddled opinion, seemed very unstable. One false move and then…well, after "then," Sanji wasn't really sure what happened.

"I hope you enjoyed the show."

The sudden break in the silence jarred the cook's roiling, jumbled thoughts like a gunshot in his ear. In fact, he jumped so badly, he knocked his back into the hard wood of the bar counter, and became aware, once again, of Zoro's hand resting just behind him.

Sanji's functioning brain cells came to the unanimous conclusion that they didn't like the swordsman's hand there. That's as far as they got.

Zoro was moving in again, very slowly narrowing the distance between them with predatory intent. That hunter-musk rolled off him in waves, washing over Sanji and nearly overpowering his other senses which were, for the time, content to go absolutely batshit crazy. The only thing he was still certain about was the fierce desire to get the hell away from this creepy bastard with his unsettling smirk and his animal-stalking approach and that glint in his eye that made Sanji's brow twitch and tiny shivers spread over every inch of skin.

Shit, he needed a way out of this!

"You seemed really interested in this part," the swordsman said, voice barely above a sinister whisper.

And then a large, rough hand gripped at Sanji's jaw, while a hot, hard body pressed his light frame into the unforgiving wood behind him.

An unyielding mouth crushed itself against his own, and the poor cook's brain sputtered to a stop.

Volts of electricity sparked and hummed through every nerve, making his fingers and legs jerk a bit. But everything else had locked up sharply. Sanji may as well have been a light post, for all the response he gave. He was too shocked to try and throw the bastard off, and Zoro's lack of breasts in favor of other anatomy prevented Sanji from giving in to the contact. So he made no movement and waited for it to just be over.

But then that other pair of lips parted, and a wet tongue swept tauntingly over Sanji's fiercely clenched mouth, making his breath hitch harder, and he didn't even feel the bar counter anymore. It didn't try to force its way through the barrier; it simply let Sanji know that it was there, and then just as quickly darted back, taking the mouth with it.

Hot breath rolled over the cook's frozen features, threatening to melt them. "If I ever catch you stalking me again, I'll cut you in ways that will make you useless to a woman."

And the heat and the pressure and the domineering presence suddenly retreated.

Sanji didn't remember watching the swordsman turn his back on him and walk from the bar, although he assumed that's what happened.

He may have blacked out, he may not have.

He didn't quite remember too much about the rest of the evening. The next thing he was aware of, he was lying in his hammock in the boy's quarters, staring unseeingly at the darkened ceiling, without a clue as to how he got there.

He guessed he'd walked.

He might have hitched a ride on a stampede of substance-abusing trolls, for all he knew.

What he did know: there was a faint humming just below the skin of his lips. And his breathing wasn't regulated yet.

Sanji rolled over and decided to sleep.

His brain, for once, said nothing.

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Sorry about the long ass delay! I was in Florida until recently! Whoops! I'll do better, I swear! LOve Much!!


	4. Chapter Three: A Lack of Repose

The food was in the oven on low to keep it warm until everyone else woke up

**TITLE**: The Way to a Man's Heart

**AUTHOR**: endsoftime

**PAIRING**: ZoroxSanji

**RATING**: Prolly 'M' cuz I suck. An awful lot.

**NOTES**: Not too much to say…it's more of Sanji being all "OMG, noe idea wot ai want, lolz!" With a fun little twist at the end. Have fun.

**Chapter Three** -- In Which a Certain Cook is Perpetually Denied Repose

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The food was in the oven on low to keep it warm until everyone else woke up.

The dishes had been washed, dried, washed harder, dried less, slipped to the floor, some broken, the pieces swept away, and the remaining ones soaking in the sink for their own protection.

Chairs seemed to fall over of their own accord, the cabinets swung open, subjecting more dishes to the cruelty of the floor as the _Going Merry_ pitched lazily in the rocking waves, and gaps in the wood seemed to rise out of nowhere for tripping purposes. When the table finally managed to become conspicuously upside down following a loud bang and deep scuff marks in the wood, the cook decided the galley had turned into a death trap, and escape was vital for maintaining sanity.

And his life.

It wasn't until after he'd opened a new pack of cigarettes, placed a fresh stick between his pursed lips, and then proved unable to light it with the flaming match that he realized just how badly his hands were shaking. In fact, if he was truly honest, he'd have to admit his entire body was vibrating just then.

Which made no sense.

Lack of sex didn't do this to someone. Sanji only had one addiction, and its name was Mr. Nicotine. That's all the tremors were; he just needed a cigarette. Even if it was close to his seventy-fifth in two hours. And he'd fix this problem real soon, once his goddamned hands stayed the fuck put! They shouldn't even be doing this. His hands had always done his bidding; why were they suddenly going haywire, like all the nerves had been severed?

Why was every inch of muscle jerking and spasming slightly under his skin?

Why did it feel like he couldn't breathe?

"I should go see Chopper," he muttered to the gently lolling sea. "Maybe I'm sick or something."

Yeah, that's what it was. He was sick. He'd caught some horrible virus that would have killed a lesser man within hours, and here he was standing valiantly after six days of agony, with only a mere twitch as any sign of the deadly disease's affect on his tough ass body.

"And now I've apparently turned into Usopp," the cook confided once again with the ocean, a grim little smirk pulling at his trembling lip.

He lit another match. Maybe this time he'd…but no. The flame danced wildly in between his fingers, managing to go no where near the actual cigarette. Sanji sighed and flicked the match into the blue waters below, then stuffed the death stick into his coat pocket. He would surrender, at least for now.

Instead, the nerve-shot cook took to tapping his index finger against his pursed lips, as if compensating for his lack of hazy smoke, while the rest of his body leaned rather heavily on the railing of the ship. "I haven't eaten anything yet…maybe I'm just really hungry. Probably why I'm shaking."

Despite the sheer ridiculousness of all this, Sanji had to pat himself on the back for even admitting that his body was being less than cooperative. But honestly, when wasn't it nowadays? He saw it as a step away from being what his beautiful Nami-swan called, "stupidly male."

But did that mean he was turning into a girl?

"Fuck no!" he supplied immediately, and then felt dumb for the outburst. There wasn't even anyone around to accuse him of anything. And just because the asshole marimo always forced him on the bottom did _not_ make him any less of a lady-killing sexy beast, or a total badass. Well…all right, the bastard didn't _force_ him, necessarily; in a weird, twisted sort of way he actually kind of liked being on the bottom, since he didn't have to do any real work, and he came every time, anyway, and that's all that really mattered, but that didn't mean —

"GAH!" Sanji shouted, grabbing fistfuls of hair. "Quit thinking that shit!"

And besides, the thought of consuming food made his stomach curl unpleasantly, so he discarded that theory and began rummaging around his head for more pathetic excuses to help explain away this sad, stupid situation. He had to find a plausible answer, and soon. If he didn't, his mind might just start fabricating something he would seriously come to regret.

Regardless of whether it was true or not.

"All right, Sanji!" he muttered to himself. "Just calm the fuck down. Just calm down and think about it." He sighed, cursing his body for its rebelliousness and for being unable to _light a fucking cigarette_. Christ! How big of a pussy do you have to be to not even manage holding one goddamned match to one goddamned cigarette long enough for the goddamned flame to catch? Shit!

"It's okay, Sanji," he soothed, regaining control. "It's just the nicotine talking. I'll be fine, just breath. Now. What exactly is the problem?"

_There's an asshole of a swordsman on this ship who suddenly goes all blushing-bride and refuses to put out_.

"And what are my options for dealing with this?"

_Hmmm…waiting in a dark corner to jump him, drugging his food, slipping him a mickey, knocking him unconscious with a frying pan, chloroform, other fumes that may very well be lethal in large doses, bondage…_

Sanji grimaced sharply. "When the fuck did I become such a freak? It's all that fuck-head's fault. Goddamned marimo. Self-righteous bastard."

"Sanji?"

His lungs locked up enough to make him gasp, and his twitchy body jerked hard into the ship's rail. He very nearly swallowed his tongue. Spinning around frantically, Sanji confronted his sudden visitor: a particularly concerned looking navigator.

"Nami-san!" he cried, attempting to put a sunny smile on his face. "You're up so early today!"

"Yeah, I thought I heard someone mumbling …"she said, looking him over carefully. Her scrutinizing gaze only made him more nervous; his wonderful Nami-swan was far too clever not to notice his slight trembling from head to foot. "Who were you talking to out here?"

"Err…n-no one, Nami-swan. I was just going over the menu for today." Sanji felt awful for lying to his goddess. "Are you hungry yet? I could fix you something light until breakfast is ready to serve!"

"No, I can wait, thank you Sanji-kun," she answered, not one to be distracted by anything that wasn't gold or rubies, both of which she so richly deserved!

"Then maybe something to drink? We still have some of the coffee you love so much."

"You mean the stuff from Pandina?"

Sanji's heart hiccupped in his chest, and he thought he might very well die right there on the deck. It was an innocent enough question. It didn't mean she suspected anything. And the coffee _was_ from a small shop on one of the dustier streets of that particular town. When everything got fucked up. There was no reason for him to act like he'd been shot. But that didn't stop him from practically feeling the bullet sink into his lungs, rend his breath, tear apart his insides and force the rushing of his blood to drown out noise, vision, thought, life, sending him spiraling down through darkness and smoke and doubt and cold and—

"Sanji-kun, are you all right!"

He blinked. Nami-swan's beautiful, alarmed face came back into focus…_oh fuck, did I just pass out? Great, now my lovely goddess will think me a weakling, and I can never show my shameful face in her glory ever again!_

But no, he quickly realized he hadn't fainted, just blacked out for a second. He was still on his feet, thank God, but his fingers had a fierce death grip on the railing behind him. Sanji was sure there'd be grooves left over. Ussop wouldn't be happy.

"Sanji-kun!" Nami-san demanded, giving his shoulder a firm jerk.

The poor cook shook his head, trying to get all the cogs to settle in their proper places. Fuck, this was not good. He grinned the most winning smiled he was capable of, and managed to rasp out, "I-I'm fine, Nami-swan! Knowing you care is more than enough to cure any ailment! I can die a blissful man, now!"

She frowned squarely at him and released his shoulder with a huff. She didn't buy it for a second, and honestly Sanji expected no less. His wonderful Nami-swan was so very intelligent and perceptive…unlike some _other_people on this ship that Sanji was trying his damndest not to think about. Surely her keen eyes had noticed his slight tremors; surely her acute hearing had picked up the vaguest hesitation in his voice, and noted his lack of usual enthusiasm when being graced with the privilege of speaking to her. In fact, if Sanji was feeling particularly honest, he'd have to admit that his performance was really rather shitty. He wouldn't be surprised if _Luffy_ managed to figure out something was amiss in less than three or four hours. Which was saying something.

But he wasn't honest, and like hell would he give up so easily. Though it pained him dearly to lie to his love, he also couldn't bear it if she knew the truth.

For her part, Nami-san said nothing for a few long, excruciating moments (although the agony was dulled due to her radiant presence.) Her smooth brow was knit with concern, and while Sanji did bask joyously in the knowledge that she cared, he did silently curse himself for causing those unfortunate wrinkles on her flawless face!

_Ah, Fate! Such a cruel mistress! So capricious and merciless! Did the gods above have no sympathy for this heavenly maiden, who deserves nothing short of the very life that flows through my veins? Why must the powers that be drag her unmarred innocence into this filthy affair of licentiousness? Is there no justice in the world? Is there no compassion? Is there no _—

Nami-swan's features were no longer darkened by confusion. A strange light illuminated it, sort of like an epiphany dawning. Her eyes were set with perfect calm, and her full lips were edged upwards just slightly…

Sanji swallowed hard. While he was loathe to admit such a thing about his precious Nami-swan, he was forced to concede that had this particular expression fallen on any male member of the crew, Sanji would have mule-kicked their goddamned faces in. But since it was Nami-swan, all he felt was trapped.

"So, Sanji-kun, please tell me," she began, leaning in closer to him, her look of accomplishment growing more…_confident_ by the second. Yes, that was the correct word. It certainly wasn't _smug_, not by a long shot. Maybe…

A thin, delicate finger hooked his tie and drew Sanji forward, until their foreheads nearly touched.

He tried to swallow again, but his throat muscles spasmed, and he only succeeded in choking.

"What's it like, fucking Zoro?"

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TBC

YAYZ! Reviews pleeez, caus I'm insecure and I need internet love!!


	5. Chapter Four: Enlightenment and Mikans

**TITLE**: The Way to a Man's Heart

**AUTHOR**: endsoftime

**PAIRING**: ZoroxSanji

**RATING**: More of an R than anything, because I am hopeless. Bear with me, people. We'll get there eventually. And then we shall have ham.

**NOTES**: Not mine, yes yes, we already know that, what next? It's really more of the same. But enjoy regardless!

**

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**

**Chapter Four** — Enlightenments on Two Mikans a Day

"Sanji…Sanji…"

A heavenly, musical voice crooned lovingly into his ear, coaxing him, drawing him from his thick darkness. He felt the blood flowing in his veins, his brain was slowly rousting itself. Unhurriedly. Why rush? The air was warm and fresh, and he felt light as a puff of cotton. And that voice still sang sweetly to him. This was a much better place. Better than where he'd been just moments before. It had just been a figment of his unconscious. Everything would be all right. He'd escaped the demons, and was now awakening to a better, brighter day.

"Sanji! Get up, now!" the lovely voice shouted in its own, lovely way.

The cook sighed contentedly. _And to be woken by Nami-swan. Truly, there is no greater joy in life!_

His eyes slowly cracked open, stung only momentarily by the waves of sun that soaked the deck of the _Going Merry_, until they settled on the perfect face of the navigator leaning over him, her silky tangerine hair forming the perfect frame for her delicate features.

"Sanji," she asked, "are you okay?"

He gave her another dreamy smile. "Certainly, Nami-swan! I've never felt better! But you can't imagine the horrendous dream I've had!"

Nami-san's thin eyebrow quirked slightly. "Do tell."

Sanji laid a hand dramatically across his eyes. "Oh, it was dreadful, Nami-swan! Surely such atrocities should never be uttered in your sweet ears!"

His Nami-swan snorted (in a very lady-like way.) "Try me."

"No, no, my dear goddess!" he protested. "As a gentleman, I could never condone such a thing! It was far too vile for one as fair as yourself!"

A gentle hand rested on his arm, and slowly but firmly pulled it away from his up-turned face. Nami-san was smiling with dangerous kindness. Sanji had seen this smile many times before; it was usually followed by something heavy being chucked at him…chucked with _love_, that is!

"Sanji-kun," she cooed with the same deadly sugar in her tone. "I am very interested in this dream of yours. Please tell me. It would make me _very_ happy."

The overwhelming desire to please his Nami-swan ― as well as the unmistakable flash of violence in her eyes ― spurred Sanji into recounting his nightmare. Swiftly.

"It was truly gut-wrenching, my dear Nami-swan! It started wonderfully, though: I stood just there, against the railing, and suddenly you appeared, giving light and reason to my world once more!" Nami-san coughed slightly, but waved off his concern, telling him to continue. "Yes, well there you were, moving slowly towards me, smiling angelically! You were singing of your long-subdued love for me; how you had adored me as much as I adored you, but could never show your true affections for fear of rebuff!"

A new, more exaggerated coughing fit erupted from Nami-san, drawing Sanji's attention again. "Are you sure you're well, Nami-swan? I could get you a glass of water!"

"No, no, I'm fine!" she said, a pale blush touching her lush cheeks, her eyes bright. She must be flattered! Delighted, even! Perhaps his dream had been prophetic! "Please…snrk please c-continue ―" she broke off with another coughing fit which ― and Sanji was sure he merely imagined it ― sounded oddly like giggles.

_Giggles of joy, no doubt_

"Well, of course I was thrilled, and we drew near each other, faces angled, ready to consummate our mutual ardor with a gentle kiss…" he trailed off, savoring the quiet perfection of the moment.

"And then?" Nami-san asked beside him.

His brow knit; a shuddering sigh falling from his lips. "And then, tragedy struck! A demon must have possessed you, my love, because you started saying the most…horrible things! Too awful to repeat!"

"Just spit it out, Sanji-kun!"

"You…you said…" But he couldn't force himself to say it. Not to Nami-swan. His face started feeling a little too warm. He told himself it was the sun beating down on him.

"Yes? What did I say, Sanji-kun?" she pried.

A small droplet of sweat rolled down his forehead, his breath a little unstable. Damn, it was hot out! Had the air always been so stifling? A presence seemed to press all around him; a hot, heavy, dominating presence that was close, too close, and the air wouldn't come like it was supposed to, and for a brief moment of insanity, Sanji could have sworn he felt rough fingers trail lightly over his cheek before he gasped, and the heat was gone.

"Sanji-kun?"

He was breathing a little too hard, but his better judgment seemed displaced enough that he actually gave her an answer. Sort of.

"Y-you…you asked something a-…about the marimo…"

He paused.

Nami-san watched him expectantly.

"And me," he clarified.

She blinked at him a second. "What exactly did I ask?"

"Y-you…" but then he broke off and made an odd whining noise. He really, really didn't want to give her a verbatim account; God only knew what she'd think of him if she knew the absurd, disturbing things his subconscious could come up with! Oh this bitter agony! "You asked what it…what it was like…t-to…"

"I asked what it was like to fuck Zoro?"

"Yes, and it was dreadful, Nami-swan, I knew the dream was truly a nightmare when—"

His voice slammed hard against his choked throat, as something cold and desperate slithered through Sanji's gut just then. _How…how did she know that…unless…_

"Sanji-kun?" Nami-san asked.

He closed his eyes and groaned, throwing his arm over his face again, but this time out of genuine anguish. It had been real. She had honestly asked him that question. Which meant she honestly knew his dark secret. And he couldn't honestly lie to her, now that he knew she was so well-informed. And it appeared as though he had honestly fainted dead-away on the deck of the ship. Sanji didn't see an upside to this shitty set of circumstances.

Plus there was a dull, thudding pain at the back of his head, and he wondered why he hadn't felt it earlier. _Fuck, I need a cigarette!_

The wood of the deck had suddenly become incredibly uncomfortable, so Sanji heaved himself up to lean heavily over his own lap. All good, warm, happy feelings had fled, leaving only oppressive heat and a helluva lot of exhaustion.

Nami sighed from somewhere above him, and he was aware of her slowly lowering herself to the deck beside him. He couldn't look at her. Couldn't look at the ocean. Couldn't look at anything but his hands that didn't even have the energy to shake anymore. He would have lit a cigarette just then, but he didn't think his arms would move.

"Do you want to talk about it?" A soft, gentle question. More compassion than he deserved. Because he'd lied to her. Because he was sick. Because there was something obviously wrong with him.

"No, Nami-san," he replied tonelessly. "Thank you."

She huffed, not liking that response. "Well, you're gonna anyway. Moping around here isn't going to fix anything."

He knew he didn't deserve to, but Sanji frowned and looked at her anyway. _How did she…_

But Nami just winked, grinning at him. "Please, you think I couldn't figure that out? You guys weren't all that discreet, anyway."

Sanji ground his teeth, feeling a little life flow back into him in the form of anger. "Goddamn stupid marimo," he muttered. "Told him a million times to act normal about it!"

"You think Zoro gave it away?" Nami asked, quirking her eyebrow when Sanji turned to gape at her once more. He didn't even need to say anything; she simply nodded sagely, confirming his worst fears.

"But…how—"

"You danced around a lot more, you didn't dote on Robin and me as much, you paid way more attention to Zoro, even if it was just fighting, your cooking was better and a little on the spicy side," she said, tallying the list off on her delicate fingers. "Plus, you mutter 'marimo' all the time when I catch you napping."

Sanji felt his heart, lungs, and other major organs sink to the wooden deck, along with his slack jaw. There wasn't a single thing he could think of to say. He simply sat in stunned horror, mulling over this new revelation. Slowly his hands came up to cover his face, the now familiar sensation of mortification seeping into his bones.

_All that bitching about "Being discreet," and "Don't tell anyone," and "It's just a distraction," and __**I'm**__ the one who goes and fucks it all up._

…_I wonder how much embarrassment I can take before I decide to just gut myself with a blunt spoon…_

"Look, it's not like Zoro wasn't acting weird either," Nami said hastily, grabbing his shoulder and trying to pull Sanji from his vortex of woe. He looked up at her blearily. "It's just…I guess I noticed it from you first. But thinking back on it, he was out of character too…he was a lot less abrasive. I think he laughed more…"

Nami paused for a moment, frowning at him. "I think you two were happy. Well…happier, anyway. What's with this funk you're in?"

Sanji cleared his throat a bit nervously, but it felt a lot easier to dredge it up now that Nami-san already knew. "Er…about six days ago we…sort of…stopped."

She blinked at him a second. "Stopped," she repeated.

"Yeah, we've been…it had been going on for about two months, and then he just…stops. Doesn't want to do it anymore. Keeps refusing." _And I'm not so desperate that I'm gonna rape the bastard, no matter how bad he has it coming to him!_

Nami nodded at him, giving a knowing sigh. "Ah yes, I thought something was off. You've been taking it pretty hard, it seems."

He just coughed slightly as way of affirmation. No need to go into the _excruciating_ detail of just how badly he was handling this enforced celibacy.

"Zoro's been acting off, too," she noted, almost to herself.

Sanji's head snapped up and stared out at the sea, excited by the possibilities of this new information. Was that true? Was the asshole just as jittery and frustrated as he was? Did he break shit out of uncontained fury? Did he have nightmares every time he closed his eyes, leaving him with painful erections that wouldn't ever get the treatment they needed? Was he coming unglued too?

Of course he fucking was!

"Hn," he snorted, doing a wonderful job of containing his glee. "Serves him right. Asshole deserves this whole fucking headache." He almost felt bad about swearing so much in front of Nami, but at the moment he didn't have the energy to properly apologize. And Sanji did nothing half-assed.

"I wouldn't say he's as strung out as you," Nami said honestly.

"What do you mean? He hasn't gotten laid either the last six days."

She rolled her eyes as though the cook couldn't possibly be any dumber. "Please, Sanji, we're talking about a guy who tried to chop his own damn legs off. If he could do that, don't you think he could handle a few days without sex? Insignificant things like that don't get to him. Although that does go a long way for making him an insensitive ass at times," she muttered slightly. "No, he's not off his rocker, but he is really moody. And quiet. He doesn't even get mad when Luffy and the guys wake him up from a nap. He just kind of stares at them and goes back to sleep. He acts like someone died."

He didn't have an answer to that. It took him a moment, but eventually Sanji worked up the nerve to say, "My dearest Nami-swan, I don't mean to sound rude, but breakfast will be ready soon, and…" He trailed off, unable to actually say what he wanted to say, but he looked at her with his tired, glazed eyes, and bless her heart, she understood.

"Of course, Sanji-kun. I'll be just out on deck, reading. Call me when it's ready, ne?"

"Certainly, Nami-swan." With that, his nimble goddess rose to her feet and descended the few stairs down to the main deck, leaving Sanji with his thoughts. He could never actually put into words that he wanted Nami to leave him alone, because never before in his life had he ever wanted a woman to remove her beauty from him. But he knew he had some shit to think about, and it would only be harder with Nami's radiating presence there to distract him.

Sanji's body remained perfectly still, listening for any more early risers, but the ship was eerily quiet. His muscles weren't twitching anymore, which he guessed was a good thing. The dull thud in his skull had lessened considerably; also comforting. Really, all his body's previous ailments were completely gone. Which only threw into much more painful relief the new sensation he was experiencing: an aching, ripping sort of feeling in his chest. Like something really important had been torn out by claws. He'd felt something similar to this only one other time: when he saw that shitty old man had cut off his own leg, so that Sanji could survive on a deserted, sun-parched, god-forsaken rock. It was that kind of pain. And it pissed him off.

This was not guilt. He did not feel bad about this whole thing. Why the fuck should he? The baka-bushido was the one who up and decides that he's too good for sex! It's his own damn fault if he feels all mopey! It's just what he deserves for being such a selfish asshole! Yes, Sanji would admit the pain was actually there, in his chest, but so the fuck what? There must be something physically wrong with him, that's all. It wasn't any of that psychosomatic bullshit that Chopper was always trying to explain to the crew. His feelings and shit were not causing this pain! They couldn't be! Sanji had a clear fucking conscience! He hadn't done anything wrong!

_Then…why the fuck does it feel like I did…?_

* * *

Hee hee! See, Nami ain't evil all the time! Thanks for all the love, guys! You make me wibble with glee!


	6. Chapter Five: Cook's Guide to Suicide

**TITLE**: The Way to a Man's Heart

**AUTHOR**: endsoftime

**PAIRING**: ZoroxSanji

**RATING**: NC-17!! YAY!! SEX!!

**NOTES**: Nun of eet ees miiiiiine!! I weesh eet wur!! Also, reeeally reeeeeaaaally long, n' shit!

* * *

**Chapter Five** — A Cook's Guide to Suicide, Step One: Preheat the Oven

As much as Sanji would have liked to simply sit out on _The Merry's_ deck and pretend he didn't have anything better to do, the cruel truth was that he _did_ have something better to do, namely breakfast, which he'd already pretty well fucked up from making it at such an ungodly hour, and then reheating it — _reheating_, for fuck's sake! — and Sanji couldn't afford to be anymore disgusted with himself lest he end up rutting around the utensil drawer for a blunt object to end his life with.

That, and a certain goddamned marimo that he'd done a spectacular job avoiding thus far was due out on that very deck for his daily crazy-masochistic-training-ritual any minute now, and Sanji wanted to be well out of eyesight by then. Which made that ridiculous fucking pain in his chest that _absolutely fucking was not guilt_ twinge in an irritating way, because before all this heavy funk and abstinence hit, the cook had not really, sort of, secretly, in his own way enjoyed watching the muscled freak weight train.

_Well shit, what red-blooded male wouldn't? He's no luscious, beautiful maiden, but even dead-straight guys would have to admit the marimo can be fucking hot when he's not running that ugly mouth of his. I mean, fuck, those veins bulging around ropes of coiled steel, all wrapped in tight, tanned skin with beads of sweat following every groove and hollow, making it sleek and glowing and wet like fucking sin personified, and…_

And this was not helping the problem.

So with a deep heave on oxygen, for once, since Sanji's cerebellum couldn't seem to coordinate a simple "light-cigarette" function, the cook pulled his tired limbs off the ship's deck and ambled back into the safety of the galley…..

…which he realized with an agonized sigh that he'd left as a goddamned battle zone about an hour earlier.

_Well…fuck. _

But there was nothing for it, and Sanji went about straightening the hell-hole with minimal cursing, which was just another testament to how goddamned exhausted the cook was. And the day had only just started.

Sanji reached into his pocket and fished out his carton of cigarettes. Only six left.

_Shit…_

Sanji had just enough time to sweep the floor, right all the upturned furniture, and glare in self-reproach at the broken dishes in the sink before the ravenous zoo that was the fearsome Strawhat Pirate Captain made his presence known by slamming noisily — and bodily — through the galley door, knocking over as many things as he possibly could.

"Sanji!! Is breakfast ready? I'm staaaaaaaaaaarving!!"

The cook rubbed his temples, knowing he should feel incredibly annoyed, but he was just too damn exhausted. He barely even blinked at the new destruction of his kitchen. "Yeah, Luffy, breakfast's ready. Go call the rest of them."

Luffy laughed and cheered, ducking back out the door, screaming that he would eat all the food if his crew didn't hurry up, which wasn't really an empty threat, and it had the desired effect; the rest of the Strawhats came scrambling into the galley (except the ladies, of course), and took up their unofficial positions around the small table. Sanji made sure his beautiful angels had their meal, serving them first while glaring Daggers of Death at his salivating captain; the boys' plates fell in front of them with a dull _clunk_.

It wasn't until everyone at the table had tucked in that the cook realized they were one short. And by this time, he wasn't at all surprised, just oddly deflated. In addition to the indefinite pause in whatever this weird…._thing_ was between Sanji and the swordsman, the latter man had been making himself infuriatingly scarce around the cook at all times. Every meal for the last six days saw the crew one green-haired idiot shy of a full deck. None of the others thought it very wise to comment; not after the first day, when Ussop was rewarded for his damned curiosity by a very well placed kick in the jaw from a seriously strung-out blonde. Then he'd gotten three more kicks, just to make sure he learned his lesson. Ussop didn't walk for another twelve hours. So no one brought it up again.

And whatever fucked up pain was in Sanji's chest, it was the same damn thing that was keeping the fascist chef from giving Zoro hell for his meal-time absences. He just sighed heavily, like every other day, and piled some bacon, eggs, and dry toast on a plate, and set it outside the galley door; just like he'd done every meal, three meals a day, for a week. After shielding the food with a tin cover, the cook headed back into the kitchen, fighting off the ridiculous need to sigh again.

"Luffy, you better not have eaten everything behind my back," he muttered half-heartedly. Fuck, he was tired! He needed a nap. Or something.

"Nope!" the lanky boy chirped, a very proud grin stretching his face.

_Funny_, Sanji thought, frowning. _He's been pretty well behaved the last few days. _Still slightly skeptical, Sanji checked all the pots and pans and found, to his continuing shock, that the bottomless pit actually _hadn't_ eaten every trace of food.

"Thanks for the grub, Sanji!" Luffy called suddenly, and tramped out of the galley. Ussop and Chopper followed, chattering loudly about the new weapons the long-nose was crafting to defend against the vicious five-headed, three-mouthed, fanged, drooling monster of the deep they were soon to encounter, with Chopper practically pissing himself with fright/glee. Nami and Robin didn't linger, either, and for once Sanji couldn't decide if he was disappointed or relieved for the solitude. With nothing better to do, and a head full to the bursting point with too many disturbing, not-until-hell-froze-over-guilty-marimo-thoughts, Sanji started cleaning. Again. Scrubbing the table a second time didn't take long. And washing the used plates and utensils went by smoothly. He didn't even break anything this time. No thinking. No feeling. Keep it quick, and efficient, and uncomplicated. Something had to be at some point that day, and Sanji already proved cooking wasn't going to do the trick.

He managed to successfully shut his normally over-active brain off through most of the cleaning. It wasn't until ten minutes later and he was packing away all the left over food that something very odd occurred to him: it suddenly dawned on Sanji that not only hadn't Luffy pilfered any food, but he hadn't even asked for seconds before tromping out the door. And there was something so utterly wrong about that, Sanji actually pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. No single serving of anything would ever be enough for Luffy, unless it was a serving for twenty people (with gluttonous eating disorders). It stood to reason, then, that the rubber vacuum was getting food from somewhere else, but where Sanji had no…

He wasn't sure how exactly the thought came to him, or why it hadn't earlier, but Sanji wasn't concerned with particulars as he launched himself clear across the kitchen, kicking the galley door open so hard the brass handle broke through and stuck in the adjacent wall. And then that deadly leg swung down, leather-soled foot stomping hard on a squishy hand that guiltily reached for the covered dish Sanji had left out only moments before. Crumbs littered the deck around it; without even looking, he knew the plate was already empty.

Luffy yelped and tried to pull his hand away, but Sanji's hold was merciless. Vein throbbing, pulse thundering dangerously, fury rolled off the blonde in a visible smog. The cook from hell glared down at his captain, who was attempting for the most innocent look possible. And failing.

"What. The fuck. Are you doing?" Sanji bit out, voice tight through clenched teeth and a murderous haze.

And for the first time since he'd been sailing with him, Sanji saw honest fear in Luffy's dark, round eyes. "I-I just saw the plate and the food smelled good, and I figured no one would mind if I ate it. No one's name was on it! Plus it was just sittin' there! It looked lonely." Luffy tried for another pout, but Sanji was having none of it.

"I don't waste food, shitty bastard!" he growled. "I put that goddamned plate out for a reason, and it wasn't so you could have a fucking snack!"

"But the food's been out here every day for a whole week!" Luffy whined.

"The fuck does that have to do wi—"

The cook wasn't even close to being done tearing the rubber dumbfuck a new asshole, but the last thing he said finally sunk in.

_But the food's been out here…every day…a whole week…_

The cook went very rigid, his stomach plummeting out of his shoes, to be replaced by a cold hunk of lead. _A whole week…_

Luffy blinked up at him, curiously. "Ne, Sanji?"

_A whole week…_

"Hey, are you all right?" the captain asked, trying vainly to tug his hand free. "You look kinda sick all of a sudden."

_A whole…__**week**__!?_

Sanji crumbled to the wooden deck as if all his bones had been removed. Luffy whooped at the release of his captive appendage, but quickly leaned forward into the cook's face, looking oddly serious.

"Sanji? What's wrong, ne?"

Sanji's long fingers rubbed at his eyes that burned slightly. _A whole week. Luffy's been eating every meal that I've set out for the whole week. Zoro hasn't eaten anything in a whole week. I've been __**starving**__ him for a whole __**FUCKING WEEK!!**_

He crushed his palms into his eyes and groaned pitifully.

_Fuck fuck fuck, God fucking dammit, shitfuck, motherfuck, ass dick shit fuck, fuck!_

Having all that out of the way, Sanji sighed, and ran slightly trembling fingers through his already-much-abused hair. It had been such a very long day, and it had only just begun. Sanji decided he'd really rather jump off the ship and drown than have to take even one more step. He'd rather just crawl into his hammock and sleep for fifty years, when all the mortification and self-loathing have leeched out of his bones, or until he dies. Dying sounded very appealing at the moment. That or a coma. Something that included no conscious thought for a very, _very_ extended period of time. Like eternity. But no, he was a cook, God-fucking-dammit, and he had to do his job, regardless of how tired he was, or how fruitless the endeavor seemed with chuckled-headed morons like Luffy around, or how utterly distracting the fucking non-guilt-pain in his chest was becoming.

So with a grunt, Sanji heaved himself once more off the deck, dusting off his pants, and wishing perhaps for the fifty millionth time that he could light a goddamned cigarette. That was probably another reason for this fucking day dragging along like it had. No bursts of nicotine to help pass the time, since his other, more entertaining distraction had been ruthlessly taken away. But he wasn't thinking about that. In fact, none of this was even about _that_. It was about a certain asshole of a swordsman who hadn't eaten in a fucking week, who Sanji had to feed, or else. Even if the only reason Sanji had to worry about this at all was because the fucker had been skipping meals, but he'd been skipping them for a reason, a reason Sanji wasn't thinking about, because it _goddamn fucking was not about that!_

"Uuhhhhh….Sanji?" a voice suddenly cut through the cook's vehement musings. He looked down, surprised to see his captain still on the floor, peering up at him from under the dingy brow of his strawhat.

_Hmmm…honestly forgot about him…._

"Yeah, Luffy?"

"Are you better now? You looked like you were gonna puke a second ago."

Sanji, despite his exhaustion, and irritation, and non-guilt, managed to somehow grin at the boy. Without faking it, too. "Yeah, I'm fine now, Luffy. Didn't break your hand, did I?"

Luffy's smile stretched, literally, from ear to ear. "Nope! Just scared me, is all!"

"You're lucky I wasn't serious, shitty rubber-boy," Sanji scoffed. "You might not have ever been able to use that hand again if I'd meant business."

"Hee hee! I'm glad you're better!" And satisfied that his cook had finally returned to normal, the captain flung his arm haphazardly behind him, and rocketed off to some odd corner of the ship, inflicting as much serious structural damage as humanly possible. Sanji merely shook his head, trying not to chuckle, and turned towards the galley once more. He was quite certain he heard Ussop sobbing just before he closed the door behind him.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The meal was simple enough; an innocent deli sandwich with smoked ham, cheddar cheese, mustard, mayonnaise, lettuce, and flakes of red peppers for bite. Nothing showy, but, in Sanji's humble opinion, perfectly executed. For the first time all day, his nerves were somewhat calm, and he didn't tremble. The cook even allowed himself a brief hum before he got too tired to remember how the song went. The sandwich was placed on the freshly cleaned plate, sans tin cover, and looking positively perfect. Sanji even contemplated letting the bastard drink the good sake with his meal before he remembered booze on an empty stomach was never a good idea, not even for monsters like Zoro.

_Water it is, then, and he go straight to hell if he complains_!

It really was the most in control Sanji had felt since waking up that morning. Things seemed to come together, and he had a little spring in his step as he wandered around the galley, putting ingredients away. There was an odd calm settling around his thoughts at knowing he was doing what he was meant to do; something reassuring about that sort of absolute certainty. He sighed, grinning slightly, and carried the plate and glass of water with him out onto the deck once more.

The peaceful, confident feelings bubbling in Sanji's gut remained there for the exact length of time it took the chef to locate Zoro. But once the form of the swordsman napping against the ship's rail on the aft-deck came into view, all such bubbles popped none too forgivingly.

Sanji's footing faltered, almost sending him sprawling to the wooden floor below. His breath wasn't coming as easily as it had a few seconds ago, and he couldn't remember feeling this claustrophobic when he first walked outside. But on he trudged, feeling oddly like he was walking to the gallows, and stopped just short of casting his lanky shadow on his napping nakama. Raising one foot slowly off the ground, Sanji opened his mouth to speak, to give a fair warning before his own brand of wake-up-call came crashing down on the swordsman's gut, but then he watched as that firm chest moved up and down, heaving with a bit more effort than normal, and maybe his muscles look slightly smaller all of a sudden; and his face definitely seemed thinner, and a mite hollowed, and Sanji tried to swallow, but his throat was coated with sand paper, so he choked instead. His suspended leg quivered slightly, and that odd-as-fuck pain in his own chest pulsed very viciously, making damn sure Sanji knew it would be giving no quarters. His heart spasmed and thudded hard against his ribs. Cold sweat drenched his brow.

_Fuck, I can't do this!_ he thought wildly. _I can't wake him up, I can't say anything to him, I think my heart'll fucking explode if I even try!_

Now, BlackLeg Sanji is no goddamned coward, and there isn't a soul alive who could attest otherwise.

But at that moment, Sanji rather understood what Ussop so frequently went through. A sudden case of "I-Don't-Think-I-Should-Wake-the-Green-Haired-Fucker-Up-Cuz-I-Wanna-Live-to-Be-Twenty-Disease" had just taken hold. And he didn't even know _fucking why_!

So Sanji decided rather hurriedly that he'd just set the tray down beside the swordsman, kick him fast, and then fucking bolt; make sure the asshole gets his food before Luffy finds it, but also get the hell away from him before he could try and kill Sanji, for whatever reason he might want to. Sanji wasn't really sure _why_ the ero-bushido would be pissed at him, but it seemed like he was, and the cook really didn't feel inclined to find out why until he had the mystery behind the fucked up chest-pain solved. He didn't want to admit that the two might be distantly related issues, but things weren't making sense period (like why Sanji was so inexplicably freaked out by the green-haired jackass), and he really didn't feel like pressing his luck too much. At least, that's what half his brain told him. The other half, the half that got Sanji into most of his fights with the marimo, was snarling at him to wake the fuck up and call the bastard out, and get the fuck over all this girly, tip-toeing-around bullshit. Sanji was a man, goddamn it, and fuck all if he was gonna roll over and let a shit-faced dumbfuck walk all over him. God damn the consequences!

This all sounded very well and good in Sanji's head, when he happened to glance down and finally noticed the pair of dark eyes staring listlessly up at him. And in the blink of those eyes, all of Sanji's machismo, and a good majority of his vital organs, plummeted to the floor.

A sharp, green eyebrow angled up slightly. "You need something, baka-cook?"

At the sound of that voice, thankfully, Sanji's battered male pride managed to slink back into place. _Well,_ the cook thought, _he doesn't __**sound**__ pissed_.

"Yeah," he drawled, and was pleased with how calm and bored his voice sounded. "Apparently some fuckwit on this ship hasn't eaten in six goddamn days because he's functionally retarded." Sanji lowered the plate, then dropped it unceremoniously on the deck beside the reclining swordsman.

Zoro eyed it a second. He looked back at Sanji. "I skipped meals 'cause I wasn't hungry, shit-cook."

Sanji's lip curled. "Like I fucking care. I'm the cook on this psycho boat, and as long as I am, this crew's eating whether they want to or not. Make my job difficult, and I'll lay you out on the deck with a fucking indentation in your ugly face. I doubt you could put up much of a fight, looking all starved like you do," he finished, sneering, although he didn't really find it amusing at all.

A vein ticked slightly in Zoro's forehead. "The fuck did you say, dartboard-brow?" he grumbled.

"I said," Sanji stooped, getting right in the swordsman's face, "I could kick your ass with both legs tied behind my back, asshole."

A fist suddenly swung up and knocked Sanji in the chest, sending him sprawling back on his ass and coughing. The swordsman now towered above him, dark eyes slightly shaded from the sun directly over head, and it looked ominous, and a little familiar, but Sanji was ignoring the single tongue of fire that licked his insides, because, like the cook had said before, it wasn't about that. A rough hand grabbed the front of Sanji's jacket and hauled him off the floor, dragging him so close Sanji's nose nearly brushed Zoro's, and he could see little flecks of green in the other's dark irises.

"Makin' a claim like that, fucker, you better be able to back it up," Zoro's voice rumbled low, and Sanji tried really hard not to shiver when warm breath washed over his face.

_It's not about that, it's not about that, it fucking is not about that!_

And then Mr. Male-Pride returned, unexpectedly, and a voice in Sanji's head said, "Fuck it all," and it might have actually come out vocally, but Sanji didn't really give a shit. His right leg bowed out and then swung up, catching the swordsman right in the temple, making him release the maltreated jacket, and stumbling a few feet. And the cook wasted no time; didn't even let the fucker get his footing back before he charged forward, flipped on to his hands, and leveled three lighting-fast blows against Zoro's chest and gut. Then Sanji flung himself upright once more, angling so he landed right on top of the swordsman the second his green head hit the deck, and it was the fastest Zoro had ever gone down before, but Sanji refused to think about why, because it wasn't about _that_. When his thin hands reached down to grab the struggling swordsman's face and crush their lips together, Sanji realized it was actually about _this_, and it had always been about _this_ because _this_ was all that there was between them, and why the _fuck_ couldn't Zoro just hang his ego long enough for them to screw, and get the frustration out so everything could just fucking go back to normal!

There was a span of about two or three seconds when the body below him was too shocked to respond. When it finally did, an iron fist slammed into Sanji's jaw, sending him through the air to land on his ass again. And Sanji wanted to sob from the frustration and rather painful rejection, but he decided getting pissed was so much more productive. Or something.

_Well fuck, if he's too weak for a fight, and he still won't fuck me, might as well piss him off as much as I can!_

"What the fuck is wrong with you, asshole!" the cook growled, launching back to his feet, because the sight of Zoro looming over him when there wasn't a good fuck in sight was still enough to raise his hackles. "Since when the fuck are you such a goddamn prude?" Sanji closed the distance between them, leg once again raised and ready to deal out some major hurt. _Tough titties if the marimo-head can't fight up to par. He deserves an ass-kicking anyway! _That's what he told himself, anyway.

Zoro remained silent, wordlessly blocking every devastating blow Sanji could dish out, letting the cook push him back, because he probably didn't have enough energy to go on the offensive. And Sanji wasn't an idiot, he'd fought with the moron long enough to interpret just about every move, whether large or subtle, that the swordsman made; from swinging three deadly blades through the air with sharp precision, down to the arching of a single eyebrow. Nothing got by Sanji, and he knew he was taking advantage of Zoro's depleted state, and the pain in his chest hummed and hammered against his ribs, and the fact that the asshole was just standing there, _taking_ it, _letting_ Sanji fuck with him this way only served to piss the cook off more. But it'd be a cold in hell before Sanji admitted he was mad at himself. So he got mad at Zoro instead.

"So what's really the problem, Marimo?" Sanji taunted, a sick grin sliding up his face as his leg flew through the air like a scythe. "Did you forget you had a dick or something?" He heard a growl from his complacent sparring partner, but he was too busy sweeping out at legs whose foot work was faltering enough to make Sanji hate himself just a little bit more; legs that managed to dodge the sweep at the last second, making Sanji bite back a snarl of irritation. "No, don't tell me!" he went on, barely containing his disgust. "You were wanting me to bring you flowers and candies! You were waiting for me to ask you to fucking marry me, was that it?" And he didn't really know why, but that last comment made something spark behind Zoro's eyes, and it wasn't a good something, and before he could avoid the sudden trap he'd landed himself in, Sanji's leg swung in a roundhouse towards the swordsman, who grabbed it mercilessly, pinning it against his side.

Zoro grabbed the lapel of Sanji's jacket once more, twisting the cook at an odd angle to glare him in the face. _If looks could kill…_

"What the fuck do you want from me?" Zoro's voice was full of hate and fury, and so low it was barely even human. Like a tiger's rumble.

There was so much about all of this that made Sanji want to jump over board and never resurface, but his brain had been hijacked by his libido and he couldn't seem to stop the things coming out of his mouth.

"I want you to fucking get me off like before, dumbshit!" he hissed venomously.

Sanji could feel and hear and practically _taste_ all the very bad and wrong things that had just seeped into the tense air around them. And a tugging at the back of his mind told him he had never seen Zoro's eyes quite that shade of black, or his lips curled in such an odd-looking sneer that bared clenched teeth, and it made him sick. When arms and hands released him except for one hateful fist in his jacket, and began hauling him down the stairs of the aft-deck, Sanji had half a mind to tear away and hide for the rest of his life. But when the door to the darkened storage room was kicked open, and a web of sweaty, moan-filled memories slapped the cook in the face, his legs nearly buckled as every ounce of blood in his body slammed straight into his groin. He was hard before he even blinked. There was still badness hovering at the back of his brain, but he couldn't dwell on it. Not here in the darkness. Not where he'd wanted to be, with _this man_ for one long, hellish week.

The fist had to practically drag Sanji the last five feet to the crate of spare rope. One hard shove and Sanji landed with a grunt on the crate that soon turned to a low moan when the swordsman wasted no time pawing at the desperate bulge in the cook's pants. Heat coiled at a frightening pace in Sanji's gut as rough, skilled hands pulled his zipper down. One of those hands reached in, pulling his cock free that was already throbbing at the mere prospect of what was to come. Sanji's slender hands gripped at the edge of the crate, fingers finding purchase in well-worn grooves. Two pumps and pearly-liquid seeped out of the slit, only to be whisked away by an unflinching tongue as it swirled around the inflamed head. Sanji couldn't stop the loud moan that broke past his lips, which he quickly bit to try and stifle the noise. His legs and stomach were already quivering; he wouldn't last too long. The tongue flattened and licked firmly at the underside of his cock, prodding and rolling along the vein that pulsed, and Sanji whimpered through his teeth, eyes clenched shut, everything becoming too much and not enough.

Soon the cook's entire cock was wet and dripping and jerking desperately, and his lungs heaved painfully for air as sweat rolled down his face, and suddenly there was a warm, tight cavern surrounding him, and another cry was strangled out of him. His hips surged forward, demanding more of that heaven, but a firm hand held him pinned to the crate, while another squeezed lightly at his heavy balls, rolling them in time with the fluttering tongue against his hot flesh, and Sanji thought he was dying. But as that wonderful mouth started moving up and down, taking a bit more of Sanji in on each pass, sucking him hard and expertly, that eerie badness he'd felt earlier returned. Even as Sanji panted and gasped, struggling against the hand that held his hips at bay, he could feel a churning in his gut that had everything and nothing to do with mind-blowing torture his dick was being treated to. The air around him had become heavy and acrid, and he couldn't escape the fact that something about this felt so fucking _wrong_ even though it was so goddamned _good…oh fuck, don't stop…oh God, more, ah…more please…!_

But the badness threatened to be too distracting, until that mouth plunged down as far as it could, taking Sanji so deep he hit the back of the throat, and it swallowed around him, massaging his tip and the tongue managed to sneak down, licking and teasing his balls while a slick finger came out of nowhere, pushing tauntingly, playfully against his opening, and Sanji groaned loud, desperate moans filling the still room and he didn't give a damn if the whole fucking ship heard him, because when that finger suddenly plunged inside him Sanji's brain snapped and he jerked hard against his hold, arching his back obscenely, mouth hanging open and practically screaming at the ceiling as he shot everything he had deep into that waiting throat, pulsing, shaking, fighting for breath.

The come-down was almost painful. His entire body was over sensitized, trembling, cold from the sudden chill against his sweat-soaked skin. And he slumped, feeling satiation sinking into his bones after far too long, and all he wanted to do was steal some body heat. Sanji's hands reached down, brushing sea-green hair as he went to gather Zoro up and steal his own taste from the swordsman's mouth while he summoned the energy to repay him. But his wandering hands were roughly knocked away as Zoro stood suddenly, taking a rather large step back and out of reach. That pain tugged at Sanji's chest, and the wrongness sunk into the room once again as he blinked stupidly up at the scowling swordsman.

"There," Zoro said, his voice hard and edged like a sword. "You got what you wanted, shit-cook. Now leave me the fuck alone."

"But…" Sanji blinked some more, trying to make this all make sense, but the conflicting sensations of orgasm and non-guilt, and this sudden sick dread accosting his gut, made it really hard to do. The best he could manage was a clumsy, "Wh-what?"

"Che," Zoro snorted, lips curling up into a demented grin. "What, speechless all of a sudden? Aren't you gonna gloat what a fuckin' clever shit you are? Got the well-trained swordsman to do what you wanted anyway? Proud of yourself?" Zoro's sneer was almost more than Sanji could handle just then, and that ugliness in his stomach was starting to turn unpleasantly. "Hey, smile shitty bastard," he went on, voice dripping with so much wretched sarcasm, Sanji was surprised the paint didn't peel off the goddamn walls. "You got what you always wanted, right? You get off any fuckin' time you please, and I'm out of the picture. Fuck, the least you could do is say, 'Thank you.'"

Then the sneer dropped, the taunting ended, and Sanji realized just how un-amusing Zoro found this whole situation. His eyes practically radiated blackness, closing off his features, something the cook rather belatedly noticed hadn't happened in a very long time. With another 'tch', Zoro turned on his heel and stormed out of the storage room, slamming the door shut behind him. Sanji just sat on the crate, his pants still open, the dried sweat feeling itchy under his layers of clothing, and the shadowed walls of the room closed in around him, judging him and finding him guilty. Of what, he didn't know. The guilt and the sour in his stomach sort of made him want to puke. Tucking himself away and doing up his slacks, Sanji reached in his pocket for a cigarette, not blinking an eye when his fingers expertly lit the thin stick without so much as a tremor.

He barely got the first lungful in before Ussop's panicked voice bellowed, "MARIIIIIIINES!!" from the crow's nest. Sanji sighed the smoke out, adding to the stale taste of the air in those close quarters.

_Fuck, I hate this day_…

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The battle sucked. That was easiest way Sanji could think of to describe it. Also, he was a bit too busy dodging bullets and swords to wax poetical about the exact degree and altitude of the battle's suckiness. He was pretty sure that the fight broke most rules of physics; there was no conceivable way that _all these fuckers_ managed to come from one ship. It wasn't even that big of a ship, but every time he kicked a marine's ribs in, more of the bastards sprung up out of the cracks to take his place.

_Are these assholes reproducing by spores, what the __**fuck**__ right now!?_Sanji thought as he ducked under yet another blade, twisted in the air, and rammed the heel of his shoe into the nameless shithead's face. Before he even had both feet on the deck, Sanji had to side-step again to avoid _another_ of those fuckers, and these calls were getting closer and closer. He couldn't keep this up for long. It also didn't help that every time he caught a glimpse of green amidst the chaos his lungs spasmed and he forgot what the hell he was doing for a few seconds. Those seconds were all the zealous marines needed bear down, and so they did. Sanji had barely managed to dodge the last attack when suddenly, too quickly for him to think, another blade was sailing towards his chest, and somehow he didn't think he'd be as lucky this time around. _Shit! _he cursed, doing his best to twist away from a vital injury. _Why the fuck does this have to be so hard!?_

Someone grabbed him from behind and none-too-gently threw him near clear across the ship, away from the coming assault. Sanji slammed painfully into the outer wall of the galley, choking as all the wind was knocked out of him. He tilted forward, but grabbed his knees to stay upright and get some composure back. And things were happening way too fast, because before he even had a chance to wonder what the _fuck_ that had just been, the last person on earth that he ever wanted to see suddenly materialized in front of him.

Zoro. A very sweaty, pissed-off Zoro.

_Mother fuck, right now!_

"What the fuck is your problem, aho-cook!?" the swordsman roared, and Sanji allowed himself a moment of utter confusion because, honestly, that had been his line.

"Fuck you, shitty bastard!" he yelled when he had decided he didn't give a fuck what was going on anymore. "What the hell are you throwing me around the goddamned ship for?"

"If you'd get your act together, I wouldn't have to waste my time saving your ass!"

"Go to hell, marimo, don't fucking tell me how to fight!" Sanji was practically spitting rage.

Zoro's eyes, which were still that frustratingly closed black, narrowed slightly, and before Sanji could begin to wonder, an angry fist grabbed the cook's shirt, ramming him into the wall again, but slightly to the right, and guns were still going off; one sounded oddly close, but Sanji couldn't think past the hot hand that pressed knuckles painfully against his chest, and he tried to demand, "What the fuck is your problem," but he never got past the "y" before he was interrupted by an odd sound, like a heavy impact on muscle and skin, followed by the odder sound of wood shattering, and suddenly crimson was arching low in the air between their bodies, catching the setting sun for half a second before splattering to the deck.

Sanji looked at the blood.

He looked at the bullet-hole in the wood just beside him.

He looked at the fist still gripping his shirt.

He looked at Zoro; the swordsman's eyes hadn't left him for even a heartbeat. Despite the bleeding hole in his side, Zoro's sharp, almost annoyed look had never stopped boring a hole of its own through Sanji's skull.

And there was something about that look, and the hole in the wall, and the waves of red that steadily washed over the white cotton shirt, and Sanji couldn't handle it, none of it, couldn't think, couldn't question, and he was just barely aware of pushing himself off the galley wall, marching past Zoro, who didn't bother trying to stop him, and straight into the frenzied clash of violence at the front of the ship. Sanji quickly found the nearest smoking gun, and mule-kicked the asshole's face in. And then he roundhoused the guy standing next to him till his bones cracked, just 'cause he looked guilty enough, and then crushed the guy next to him, and then that guy, and that guy, and him, and him, and him, and —

It took a firm hand on his shoulder, and his captain's voice saying, "That's good, Sanji," before the cook finally came back to himself enough to notice the huge mass of broken, whimpering body's around him. He promptly stopped.

Lighting a cigarette for distraction, and shrugging of the self-disgust at having completely snapped, Sanji asked, "How's the baka-bushido?"

"He's in the sick-room!" Luffy said, not perturbed in the least by this fact. "Chopper's patching up the hole right now, but Zoro's out cold."

Something in Sanji's chest jerked, and it fucking _hurt_! "Why?" he demanded sharply. "What the fuck's wrong with him?" The cook refused to ponder the odd look his captain gave him, since it was replaced by a huge grin the next second.

"Nothing!" the boy chirped, readjusting his hat. "He's just sleeping like always when he gets hurt. Chopper said he'd be fine!"

That nasty thing in Sanji's chest calmed down. He breathed easier, and almost felt light-headed for it.

"You can go see him when he wakes up, if you wanna," Luffy said, as though that was supposed to be a real special treat for the cook.

"I'll pass," Sanji muttered. The infirmary was the absolute last place he wanted to be now, or ever. He couldn't risk going in there when he didn't have a goddamned clue why he'd overreacted so badly to seeing Zoro injured.

And he really, _really_ didn't want to ever figure that out.

It wasn't until much later that Sanji, lounging — not sulking! — down in the boy's bunk, that he heard the familiar scuffling of hooves making their way down to the lower level. He looked over the edge of his hammock as the reindeer-man hopped off of the ladder, his doctor bag in tow. Chopper glanced up and started dramatically when he saw the cook watching him.

"AAAH! Sanji! I didn't know you were down here! Don't scare me like that, asshole!" he yelled indignantly, while hiding the wrong way behind the mast. The fuzz-ball blinked just then, as though a thought had just occurred to him, and he immediately switched back into Doctor-Mode. "Are you all right? You never came for any treatment."

Sanji managed a rueful grin for his concerned nakama. "Yeah, I'm fine. Not a scratch, actually." _Thanks to the shitty marimo_, his brain added, but he'd die before he said that out loud.

Chopper frowned a bit, obviously fighting with some innate doctor-lie-detector-radar (Sanji was, after all, almost as bad as Zoro in the realm of machismo), but he eventually nodded his horned head and let it drop.

A brief moment of silence descended, which was quickly gutted when Sanji's gnawing curiosity finally got the better of him, and he practically shouted at the poor fuzzy guy, "How's Zoro doing!" If Sanji'd been going for nonchalant or subtle, he failed dismally on both accounts. He would have run upstairs and shoved his head in the oven that very instant, if Chopper hadn't proven so adorably unobservant.

The little reindeer started again, but recovered quick. "He'll be okay," Chopper said, totting over to his sea chest and storing the clasped bag away. "He lost some blood, but the bullet didn't do any major damage."

Sanji fought hard not to sigh in relief. _The bastard's fine! Just like he always is! Calm the fuck down!_

"But," Chopper went on, and the cook's head snapped up in attention. "He's really out of it. I've never seen him sleep so much from such a minor injury. And he looked as though he hadn't eaten in a while…" Chopper trailed off, falling silent. Whether he'd come to some understanding about Zoro and Sanji or not, the little Devil Fruit user knew that food was Sanji's domain, and all speculation into that realm was more than unwelcome when it wasn't coming from the cook himself.

Said cook, however, was having a very hard time wrestling with his own inner turmoil. He thought back to his previous oven idea, and noted how very enticing it looked at the moment. The pain in his chest, which he had to admit at this point was probably, more-than-likely guilt, maybe, was wreaking havoc with his lungs, and breath was coming in shuddering gasps that ached ruthlessly. The dread in his gut roiled and bubbled acidy-sickness, until it was all he could do to quit from throwing up whatever he'd eaten earlier that day. And the trembling had returned. _Fuck! What the hell is this? I feel like I'm falling apart all over again!_

"Sanji?" a worried voice asked rather near him. He cracked open eyes he hadn't even realized were clenched shut, ashamed to feel water leaking from the creases, and saw Chopper standing by his hammock, watching him kindly but anxiously. "Are you feeling all right?"

Again, the cook forced a grin that quivered more than any man's grin ever should, and said, "Yeah, Chopper. I'll be fine. I'm just tired, is all." His voice was ridiculously rasped. Sanji really hated this.

Chopper frowned once more at him, hesitating, looking like he wanted to say something. "I-It'll be fine, Sanji. Honest. Zoro's going to be fine. It'll get better. Honest!" And then the little wannabe teddy bear scuttled as fast as his little legs could carry him across the room, up the ladder, and out of sight, probably assuming Sanji would come tearing after him.

Sanji didn't. He was paralyzed by shock and his own self-destructing body. _What the…what the fuck was that supposed to mean…?_ Sanji swallowed and, tasting the bite of bile at the back of throat, decided he really didn't feel like finding out. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop the shaking, he couldn't stop the clench of sickness, he couldn't stop the throbbing pain where his heart was supposed to be, and he couldn't stop replaying everything that had happened that day. Fuck, it had been a long day. It still wasn't over, not really. He hadn't even made lunch yet. Suddenly Zoro's words came floating back to him like the memory of a bad dream:

"_You got what you wanted, shit-cook…leave me the fuck alone….you get off any fuckin' time you please…I'm out of the picture…least you could do is say, 'Thank you'…"_

The sound may have been muffled, but the bitterness was still as clear as ever, burrowing deep into Sanji's blood, making him sick and shake all over again. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream and yank all of his hair out. He wanted to burst into that infirmary and kick the ever-loving-shit out of that fucking bastard shitty-swordsman for getting this deep into Sanji conscience and fucking ruining every perception he'd ever had about himself!

So he rolled over and went to sleep. Sanji figured lunch could fuck off just that once.

* * *

Sorry for the long wait! RL and stuff like my first year at college is pretty much devouring my soul. So. Yeah. Luvs ya!


	7. Chapter Six: Hetero Inconvenience

**TITLE**: The Way to a Man's Heart

**AUTHOR**: endsoftime

**PAIRING**: ZoroxSanji

**RATING**: M, or something like that

**NOTES**: I wish I were Oda...however, I cannot tell a lie...le sigh...

* * *

**Chapter Six --** A Matter of Heterosexual Inconvenience

Three days was enough time for Usopp to have the _Merry_ repaired from the most recent Marine fight. It was enough time for Luffy to undo most of those repairs. It was enough time for Chopper to have completed almost fifty new rumble balls, and to have fallen for twelve new deluded stories from the sharpshooter. It was enough time for Robin to finish reading five books, and start on the sixth. It was enough time for Nami to have their next stop at port mapped out. It was even enough time for a certain sea-weed head to suddenly start eating again. Yes, three days was plenty of time for the ever-gleeful Strawhat pirates to overcome and move on from anything.

Everyone but one frazzled, chain-smoking cook. Three days was no where near enough time for him to sort through all the unpleasant things that Fate seemed determined to dump on him. His trembling had stopped, thankfully, and he hadn't had any recurrences of the "freakishly-early-cuz-I'm-too-fucking-distracted" breakfast catastrophes. His cooking was more or less back on track; maybe the presentation wasn't up to par, but the mouth-watering quality was still undeniably excellent. But still…there was a haze in the air of badness and noxious vapors that seemed to center around the green-haired bastard. It put poor Sanji on edge all day, every day, not to mention the (still!!) lack of sex wasn't really helping matters. After the blowjob in the storage room that one shitty afternoon, Sanji hadn't dared to even look Zoro in the eye. The fact that the stitches from the asshole's most recent gun-wound hadn't come out yet might have had something to do with it, also. Sanji even refused to get off himself, afraid that the second his pants were undone, the crazy bushido would come charging through the door and chop off his head/dick. Maybe both.

Did he have any real reason to be that paranoid? No.

Did he give a shit? Abso-fucking-lutely not.

Sanji would peer around every corner of the ship before he rounded it, fearing he would slam into the object of his distress and self-loathing at any moment, as if Zoro made it a habit to lurk around corners for the explicit purpose of ramming into people. Well…in retrospect, that had actually happened to them a few times. He'd crack open the door to any room he was about to enter, and sweep it from floor to ceiling to make sure he wouldn't end up cornered in an enclosed space with the fucker, because that seemed to happen way too often, too.

_Hrmmmm…maybe my paranoia isn't totally misplaced…_

For his part, Zoro was surprisingly neutral about the whole thing. He'd started eating with the crew again, seemingly at random; not a one of them bothered asking about any of it. He trained and slept and annoyed Sanji with the same easy, snarking banter as always, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary was going on; as if nothing abnormal had ever gone on, nor that he would wish certain not-normal things to ever happen again. He was…totally fine with it. With everything. Zoro never even mentioned the wound he'd scored that shitty day; the bullet that was meant for Sanji that the bastard swordsman took instead. Not a bit of tension or residual anger, or lust, or even _fucking recognition_ could be seen in his dark eyes, that may or may not have been closed off anymore, Sanji couldn't really even tell at that point. To all eyes, Zoro was perfectly calm. At peace with the world.

It was seriously starting to piss Sanji off.

He didn't trust that unaffected façade for one single goddamn second! He could just tell that the shitty-bushido was waiting for the right moment to strike; to seek his revenge. Not that Sanji would _entirely_ blame the swordsman if he did…after all the shit Sanji's mouth spat out after being commandeered by his libido, he figured the asshole was more than a little entitled to some payback. Sanji was just pretty sure that whatever payback the green-haired moron dreamed up would be pretty painful, and not in the "Ow, you fucker, what do you think you're doing," sort of way, but more of a "Holy shit, where did my arms go," sort of way. He would cut out his tongue before he admitted it aloud; shit, he barely managed to finish the statement in his own head without his ego interjecting, and if he was ever asked about it later ─if Zoro allowed there to be a "later"─ he would deny it unto death, but it was sort of true that maybe…uh…just a little bit, couldn't even consider it a problem, really, it was nothing, but…uh…he kinda…might be a tiny bit…nervous around the swordsman. Not scared! Like fuck was he _afraid_ of that marimo fucker! Not a chance in hell! Sanji was a real man, goddamnit! He wasn't afraid of that shitty old man, so no fucking way was he scared of _the shit-swordsman_.

He spent every night in the galley because he couldn't sleep through Usopp's snores. And the door was locked to keep Luffy from stealing anything while he was unawares. The reason there were four or five stacks of rice piled in front of the door and the windows all boarded up and barricaded was because….er….

Fucked.

That's what he was. Sanji was fucked. Luffy might as well have stuck a fork in him and started munching away, because from the way things were looking, he might as well already be dead. If Zoro didn't slit his throat, Sanji would probably bash his own head in with a frying pan, just to end all the guilt and chest pangs and fucking-foot-thick-tension that followed him like a renegade black cloud holding a grudge. Sanji wanted to just brush it off; pretend it was nothing or, better yet, that it wasn't even there, but he couldn't get over the feeling of foreboding that weighed on his mind every moment of every day. Something was going to happen. Soon.

Something Sanji very much wasn't going to like.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"LAAAAAAAAAND HOOOOOOOOO!! LAND! LAND! LANDLANDLANDLANDLANDLAND!! LAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA─GACK!"

Luffy's triumphant and ever-amazed cry for land ─ as though he'd never even seen the stuff before ─ met a very well timed demise at the lovely fist of Nami-swaaaaaan, before Sanji had to go out there and shove his foot down the idiot's mouth himself. The cook turned away from the sink full of dishes from breakfast, drying his hands on a towel, and making his way out on to the deck to join the rest of the crew, with only the _slightest_ drag in his step.

"What island is this that we're docking at, Navigator-san?" Robin-chan asked serenely.

"It's a small place called Belo-Jai," the stunning Nami-swan replied, checking the map again, "It only has one notable port town, Gensi, so our options for restocking are gonna be a bit slim, but at least it's modern, thank gods! If we'd run across one more primitive civilization, I think I might have hung myself."

The archaeologist nodded mildly, obviously not quite sharing the orange-haired girl's sentiment ─ although everyone else on the crew, sans Luffy, most certainly did. One can only be hog-tied to a roasting skewer by small people with bone jewelry so many times before it becomes a tad vexing.

_Plus_, Sanji thought, practically giggling with glee, _civilization means tobacco imports!_

The poor addict had run out of cigarettes about a day and a half ago, and the withdrawal was so bad, his fucking teeth had started crying! It also played negatively against his already shitty set of circumstances involving crew-members-with-green-hair-who-shall-remain-nameless.

"Hey Usopp," the little doctor asked, tugging at the boy's overalls, while Luffy began running and hooting in the background. "You don't think there's…y'know, anything kinda dangerous on this island….right?"

Usopp swallowed, trying to control the sudden shuddering in his knees. "W-well, I hope not….I MEAN! I mean, of course there'll be horrific dangers! I, the Great Captain Usopp would have it no other way!"

"AAAAAAH! Really?" Chopper screamed, yanking the brim of his hat down low. Luffy started circling the ship, wailing in delight.

"Of course! Why, just last year I vanquished the Legendary Fanged-Poisonous-Seal-of-Doom, saving the town's entire supply of orange pudding!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAH!!" Chopper screamed, hiding the wrong way behind a barrel and trembling. Luffy was starting his fifty-second lap around the ship, the whooping getting louder with each pass.

"Can you lunatics shut up for two minutes?" Nami shrieked, near to pulling her hair out.

"My poor Nami-swaaaaan!" Sanji cooed, sidling up to her. "Is there anything I can do to calm your headache? A refreshing drink, perhaps? A romantic walk along the beach with me, followed by a night of passionate ─" but a fist to the side of his head sent the cook slamming onto the deck floor. "Nami-swan's so glorious when she beats me!!"

"At least things are never boring, Navigator-san," Robin-chan pointed out, chuckling behind a demurely placed hand, causing Sanji's heart to melt all over again with adoration.

"Oh, Robin, don't encourage them."

Luffy had just started his one hundred and third lap, when Zoro came tramping over from wherever he'd managed to stay unconscious through all the racket, and caught the annoying rubber boy around the neck as he passed, dragging him still-hollering into the group.

"So where are we?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his free hand. Sanji grumbled inaudibly and dug around in his suit for his pack of cigarettes.

_Oh wait. I don't have any, right? Fuck._ So he gnawed the inside of his cheek and sulked at the ocean.

Nami-san rubbed her forehead, trying to control her irritation since the big moron had just shoved his fist in Luffy's mouth, effectively muffling the awful noise still coming from the captain. "If you'd been here paying attention like the rest of us, you would have heard me the first time!"

He growled half-heartedly. "Whatever. Just tell me where we are, woman."

"Bello-Jai. A small island with only one port town, Gensi. It's relatively modern."

"Good," Zoro said, nodding his approval. "I'm sick of those damn savages ─ AH! Goddammit, Luffy, that's my hand!"

But Luffy just ignored him, wiggling inhumanly under Zoro's arms. He wrapped his rubbery legs around the larger man's waist, and swung around to plaster himself against the swordsman's back, pushing on the broad shoulders and shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked out over the blue waters. Sanji tried very hard not to draw blood as his teeth raked over his cheek more harshly with each passing second. And the fleeting fantasies including Luffy, a carving knife, and a deserted field to hide the body needed to end, too.

"I can see it!" the captain cried, apparently just remembering that land, in fact, was a visible thing. "There it is! Zoro! There it is! ZOOOOORRRRROOOOOO!! THERE IT IIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSS!!" And the shrieks went on and on, punctuated by excited and repetitive blows to the back of the first mate's head.

Zoro merely grunted incoherently, and resigned with a long-suffering sigh to the thrashing, knowing it would end when someone, or something else managed to catch their captain's attention, and therefore the effects of his exuberance.

"Luffy, can't you calm down? I think Zoro's gonna pop a vein, soon," Usopp said. The rubber boy's large, twinkling eyes turned on him. Usopp gulped.

The poor, poor bastard.

"So when do we reach port?" Zoro asked, rubbing his sore head. The sounds of joyous screams, resounding _thwacks_, and desperate sobbing went more or less ignored by the rest of the crew. No one else was dumb enough to try and stop it.

Nami checked the map once more. "We should get there in roughly ten, fifteen minutes. There should be some cheap inns in the area; I think a break from the _Merry_ is definitely in order…"

"LUFFY STOP, MY ARM DOESN'T BEND THAT WAY!!"

"LAAAAAAAAAAAND!!"

The rest of the crew looked at each other, all wearing the same, doomed expression. A unanimous chorus of "Yeah," went up, before Chopper hesitantly tottled off to see if their sharpshooter was still among the living.

"Should someone stay and watch the ship, Navigator-san?" Robin-chan asked.

"Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me! Sanji-kun?" Nami-swan asked, folding the map and stowing it, obviously and marvelously, in her bra.

"HAIIIIIII, NAMI-SWAAAAAN!!" he cried, pirouetting to her side and nearly slipping in the pool of blood that had dripped from his nose.

"Would you please get the straws from the galley? We'll do the usual draw to see who'll stand on watch."

"RIGHT AWAY, NAMI-SWAAAAN!" And he was just about to twirl away when a conspicuously placed boot tripped him up, nearly sending the cook sprawling to the deck. "Oi asshole, the fuck do you think you're ─"

He stopped when he realized it was the first time he'd spoken to Zoro in three days, and suddenly remembered that, in the grand scheme of things, he had a very, very good reason why that was, namely: preserving his life.

But Zoro was, as always, totally unaffected by Sanji's behavior, which could not have possibly been anything close to normal. "Nevermind it, ero-cook, I'll do watch tonight," he said, sounding tired and uninterested in any of the discussion.

Nami blinked at him, more than a little surprised at this sudden show of responsibility in the lazy swordsman. "Are you sure, Zoro? We can do the draw like always…"

"I need to catch up on training," he said, shrugging, as though that explained everything. And to Sanji, whose insides had once again filled with bubbling acid, it did. Zoro _did_ have to catch up on his training, because a week of starvation and two days of bed rest after getting shot had put him behind on his usual monstrous regimen. And the cook tried very, very hard not to feel like he was the most despicable person on the face of the earth, but the fact that there were still dark circles under Zoro's eyes, and that the swordsman's brow twitched every time he lifted anything made it utterly impossible.

Roronoa Zoro had been weakened.

He'd been _hurt_.

And it was _Sanji's fault_.

And he didn't want to admit it, because it smacked of a different kind of weakness, but it really sort of made him hate himself. He'd failed as a cook, failed as a man, as a nakama, and as a lo─

_Stop it! _Sanji growled in his head, clenching his jaw so tightly his teeth nearly cracked. _We're just crewmates! There is nothing else! There never __**will be**__ anything else, because he's a guy, and I love women, and it's just weird, and wrong and kinda hot, but fuck all if the shitty swordsman even __**remembers**__ anything, and good, I don't want him to, I'm glad everything's over, it probably shouldn't have even happened to begin with! Fuck it!_

Holy hell, Sanji needed to take a break from this fucking place! His sanity depended on a few quiet moments alone, just him, a box of matches and a fresh pack of cigarettes…and the awful, messed up, guilt-ridden thoughts in his head.

Fuck.

Who the hell was he kidding? He couldn't be alone tonight. He'd just end up smoking the whole pack in one go, brooding all night until he was a twitching, drooling nutcase. No, what he really needed was distraction. He needed to shut his brain down for a night. He needed stress relief in the worst way; to be reduced to a weightless, exhausted state, leaving him free to drift off into deep, but more importantly, dreamless sleep.

He needed a goddamned brothel. And now.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gensi really wasn't sizeable at all. From the pier, one could throw a stone and, given proper aim, land it in the memorial fountain in the village plaza. It was a clean place, small but well kept, with cobblestone roads and quaint, closely built buildings no taller than three stories. There were maybe only seven or eight streets total, each fairly long, and every corner was either an inn or a restaurant, sometimes both.

The crew settled in the cheapest, not-quite-as-quaint-inn in town, near the docks for easy escape purposes ─ one could never be too cautious with Luffy in tow. Nami-swan only purchased two rooms with two beds each, one for her and Robin-chan, the other for the four guys that came ashore. After handing the boy's key off to Usopp ─ the least likely to lose it ─ she turned to the cook, angling a teasing eyebrow at him.

"Lucky break that Zoro's on guard duty, ne? I don't have to fork up the beli for a third room."

A nasty something scratched at Sanji's ribs, and he tried to keep all forms of mortification, and guilt, and _fucking pain_ out of his voice when he said, "Th-thank you, my thoughtful Nami-swan, but…that wouldn't have been necessary, anyway…and tell Usopp he can have his own bed, tonight."

Nami blinked her lovely lashes in confusion. "He…can…what, you aren't going to sleep here─"

She broke off, suddenly realizing the meaning behind his statement. And Nami-swan had taken issue with Sanji and his love of women ─ and love of her, specifically ─ before; she'd been irritated, and infuriated, understanding, and coyly playful. But he had never, ever seen those light brown eyes look at him with such cold disappointment before. And when he said cold, he meant subzero-burning-straight-through-bone-marrow cold. Drum Island had nothing on the narrow glare Nami now leveled at him. He gulped, heart hiccupping slightly.

"Well, do whatever you want, Sanji-kun. But don't come crying to me when you regret it in the morning," she said in a low, warning voice. A well-manicured finger thrust into his slender chest just then, and what followed was a fierce growl. "And don't you dare let me catch you blaming this on Zoro. From here on out, whatever happens is your headache, Sanji."

It was with that unpleasant-yet-true sentiment echoing through his mind that Sanji made his way down the main thoroughfare, looking for whichever alley might lead to the edgier side of town. He muttered fitfully, trying to block out Nami's harsh words, and another voice that sounded an awful lot like Nami, which kept pointing out the fact that _Zoro _wasn't getting any sleep that night, and _Zoro_ didn't get to unwind in a bar, enjoying himself, and _Zoro_ wasn't going to a brothel to screw his problems away with some whore, and didn't that sound just a shade too much like _cheating_, and wasn't it simply _wrong_ and _unjust_ and _fucking despicable_ of Sanji to even dare to find release when _Zoro_ never got any?

It was nearly enough to make the cook hang his head in shame and scurry back to the inn. Nearly. Not quite though. Whatever fucked up property in Sanji's mind that had managed to smother all those nagging voices of guilty reason up until then were what now allowed him to shrug the ugly sentiments off just enough to turn down that darkened alley that opened, suddenly, on lace-covered lanterns and loud catcalls and flashes of bright, elaborate costumes. Music, low and sultry, floated from some unknown source, curling around Sanji's head, whispering sinful suggestions that promised to justify all the awful things his mind and heart had had to endure on the trek over. It was supposed to soothe and entice him; really it just made him want to throw himself under a passing carriage. _Why_ he felt like such an atrocious asshole was sort of lost on him. He'd been to brothels and strip shows near religiously and he hadn't stumbled over annoying moral dilemmas before. One of those nagging voices tried muttering that, well, honestly, if the cook thought hard enough ─ though not too hard, dear, since you obviously aren't good at it ─ that Sanji could probably find a reason for his self-loathing. Perhaps a tall, muscled, green-haired sort of reason.

Sanji merely scowled at his scuffed shoes making headway down the glowing street, tempted to tell the voice to shut the hell up, but decided he wasn't actually crazy. But he couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that eyes were following him, namely Nami's, tailing him, judging him, making him feel guilty. It felt like ice spears bearing down on him, and more than once Sanji nearly reached up to brush the frost off his shoulder. He did his best to push that from his mind, too, but his brain was so damn preoccupied trying _not_ to think about all the shit he was walking away from, and the worse shit he was walking towards, that Sanji couldn't really pay attention to where the fuck he was going, and when he managed to lift his own gaze from the dusty road, and saw the lantern-lit sign over a shady bar stating _The Gentleman's Hideout_, he made a sharp veer for the door, and ducked inside without a backwards glance, because the forwards one had been hard enough.

When looking back over the occurrences in his life, Sanji would mark the moment he walked through that dark wood door as the catalyst for all the life-altering events that followed. It was, without a doubt, the most informative, insightful, and mortifying experience he had ever suffered, and that included that one time the shitty old man caught him masturbating behind a crate of spare rigging in a closet on the Baratie, and proceeded to trip agonizingly through a shit-discussion about the "Seagulls and the Cod." And he should have seen it coming, really. Even if his eyes had been trained on the ground, and even if his brain had been tied in a knot and left for dead three islands back, in a small town called Pandina; it was still so very obvious that, with his track record of being fucked for luck, something bad was bound to occur. That god-fucking-terrible moment fell when, figuring he was safe now that he was inside the strip joint, away from pissed off glares, he allowed his eyes to pan up, and the first thing they feasted on was a naked man's ass.

_What…the…__**fuck!?**_

A quick, cursory view of the bar's interior revealed that this man's naked ass was not, as Sanji had desperately been praying, a horrible mistake. There were three stages, lit and set up like any other strip joint the cook had ever frequented, except that the entertainment was definitely the wrong gender. Well muscled, oiled up bodies swayed and rocked provocatively to the raunchy beat emanating from a large den den mushi perched on a ledge at the back of the room. Everywhere Sanji looked, his poor eyes were speared with images of men built like Adonis, and hung like a mule, twisting, thrusting, shimmying, _wearing fucking high heels._ A few guys looked like girls, but the raging hard-ons very much not hidden by thongs were a dead give away. There were all of two women in the bar, and they were throwing money, not collecting.

How could this have happened? How! The fucking place was called _The Gentlemen's Hideout_! What part of that equaled "SWEATY MAN SEX"? This was re-fucking-diculous! Sanji's mind whirled as his spasming brain finally managed to process what he was seeing, and realize where he was.

A gay bar. He had just stumbled into a goddamned gay bar.

His life was now completely over.

"Hey, sweetie, you new in town?" asked a pleasant voice just behind him.

Sanji's brain concurred with his twitching legs: Pleasant-Voice-Man must die. In a fit of panicked rage, the cook whirled around, screaming, "Why the fuck couldn't you name this place 'Gay Guy's Corral!'"

The brown-haired man blinked. "Ummm…"

"And I'm not gay!"

"Right…"

Sanji narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the man very closely. "I don't like that tone, asshole."

"What─"

"Fuck it, I'm leaving." And with that, Sanji turned haughtily away from the Homosexual Guy, heading for the door, and he would have made, too, would have left with plenty of time to find another bar, a _straight_ bar, with naked girls and shit, if his goddamned eyes hadn't seen the goddamned flash of green attached to a tan body on the main stage, which made his nervous system utterly die.

Legs now the consistency of linguini, the cook flailed to the hard wood floor, gasping and making odd gurgling noises in his stunned attempt to turn around and figure out _what the __**fuck**__ that had been about!_

_No…no fucking way, not a chance in hell would the __**shitty marimo**__ really be a─_

And he was right. It was a guy wearing a green shawl which, when removed, revealed a mop of curly blonde hair. It wasn't Zoro wearing relatively nothing, and it wasn't Zoro grabbing a pole and twirling around it with flexibility that the swordsman probably did have, probably more, and it wasn't Zoro rolling his hips in time to the deep baseline coming from the den den mushi, and the flicker of disappointment Sanji felt was merely due to the fact that he was fucking insane.

A soft chuckle from above him. "So, what's his name?"

Remembering he was on the floor, and who knew what else was on that floor with him, Sanji got up, brushing off his slacks and pouting like a six-year-old.

"Fuck you," he muttered, reaching instinctively for a cigarette before recalling the _ingenious_ decision he'd made to take care of his dick before his addiction. So he gnawed his lip to compensate. "Why the fuck would I bother telling you?"

"'Cuz you look like you need to get something off your chest, that's why," the Homosexual Guy said, friendly grin in place.

There was something about this guy's nonchalance that made him spin the fuck out, and before he could stop himself, he was shrieking, "I don't need to talk about anything! I'm not some fucking girl, weeping and sulking over some fucking guy, I'm a man goddamnit, and fuck the marimo, I don't even give a shit, I've got a clear fucking conscience, _he's_ the asshole who decides he's a fucking _plant_, doesn't need the _fucking sex_, so fuck him and his goddamn determination and goddamn stoicism, and _goddamn face_!!"

Homosexual Guy looked cowed for all of two seconds, before a shrewd smirk slowly slid up his ugly mug. "So things aren't going well, I take it?"

A deep sigh, long and tired, full of surrender and defeat, and Sanji was just so sick of pretending everything was all right, when it very much wasn't. And he gave in.

"Yeah. Something like that." Sanji's eyes tried to focus on anything other than the Homosexual Guy in front of him, but the constant assault of man-ass all around the room made it hard to find a safe spot to look.

"Don't be so nervous, hon. It's not like we're gonna rape you, or anything," Homo Guy said, misinterpreting the action.

"I know that," Sanji growled petulantly, and resumed his pouting.

"Well whatever," Homo Guy said, shrugging. "Come on, Blondie, I'll get you a drink; you could really use one."

Sanji felt like arguing, but he didn't even know what to say, and being less sober seemed _really_ enticing at the moment. So with some degree of reluctance, he followed the Homosexual Guy to the bar, sitting so that his back was absolutely facing the dance stages. H.G. ordered them drinks ─ what, exactly, Sanji wasn't paying much attention to, and silently prayed the guy didn't slip him a mickey ─ and was served promptly.

"Here," he said, handing him a stein of amber liquid, "This ought to help."

The cook muttered some unintelligible thanks, and took an unflinching slug of the shit, needing to forget as quickly as he could. It burned all the way down, but he didn't concentrate on that, on concentrated on getting as much of it inside of him as he could. Three swallows and the mug was empty. H.G. chuckled again, and ordered a full round; the bartender raised an eye, but didn't bother asking, as bartenders tend to do.

They drank in silence for a while. The other patrons more or less left them undisturbed, which the cook rather appreciated. Four and a half glasses in, and Sanji was feeling a little hazy, a little relaxed, and surprisingly more okay with his current surroundings. The music was pretty catchy, really, and the guys could actually kind of dance; people seemed friendly and in a constant good mood. And the paint. The walls were a nice color. This place wasn't too bad. Maybe.

_Fuck it, I'm drunk. Or close. Or something. Whatever…_

The room was just the right amount of blurred, and candles on the wall flickered and swayed along with the dancers. Magical, almost. Yes. This was what Sanji needed right now. Dulled attention and lax nerves. So much better. The only thing that could be better was total unconsciousness, but it might be rude to sleep in a public place, so he just kept drinking.

He belched contentedly after the fifth ale, and that seemed to prompt H.G. into conversation.

"Hey," he said, only vaguely slurred. "What's yer name, anyways? Mine's Ed."

Sanji's bleary eyes studied Homosexual-Guy-called-Ed, who wasn't quite as ugly as he first seemed. His face was shaped…good. Or something. And his hair was a brown…good…color. Fuck, the cook couldn't hold his liquor for shit.

"'m Sanji."

H-G-Ed tried not to laugh, and sort of snorted into his mug; the blonde's lip curled at that. "Sorry. Don't hear that name too much." Another deep gulp. "So. What happened? Y'know, with you and…whoever he is."

Sanji sobered about a fraction, so he polished off another two ales to make up for it. He had to be hung to the gills if he was going to go into any of this shit. No way he could have any awareness, or else he'd never fucking talk, never fucking get it out, never fucking be able to stop the awful feeling of wanting to fall in a pit of fucking lava. Drunk was so much easier. When his brain was muzzed and thrown to the four winds, he didn't have to organize his thoughts; he could just run his mouth without any fear or shame. And babbling nonsensically was better than thinking.

"'e's my crewmate. We sail together. And," he slung his head back to finish another glass, "we were, y'know…doin' it for a while. 'Bout two months. Jus' fer somethin' to do…plus I was horny as hell n' it seemed like an okay idea. Or something." Sanji glared moodily at the new stein put in front of him before wrapping a thin hand around it and dragging it close. "Shoulda known better'n to start somethin' up with a nakama…no where to fucking get away from each other…"

Ed took a swallow and said, "Yeah, but…how'd it get all fucked up?"

"Um," Sanji said before he paused, staring at the booze in his mug that swirled slightly.

When had it gotten fucked up? The cook was pretty sure it had started when Zoro refused to have sex with him about nine days ago, but looking at the whole situation from the drunkenly honest perspective, it had been fucked up from the very beginning. Just like Sanji'd said: what happened between him and the swordsman never should have happened at all. It had been a dumb, immature mistake, and it was probably a good thing Zoro ended it when he did, for whatever reason he'd decided to.

Yes. This was good. Not having sex with the marimo was a good thing.

That didn't really make Sanji feel any better though, and he kept staring into his mug, waiting for the answers to fall into it so he could swallow them, and maybe then he could catch a fucking clue as to why he felt so guilty and why Zoro was so completely blameless, and why the thought of never having sex with him again made Sanji sort of feel like puking.

He sighed. _I'm drunk, goddamnit. I shouldn't be thinking this damn much…_

"It was fucked up from the start," he finally muttered, giving voice to his musings. "Shouldn't of happened….'sall a big mistake…won't happen again…"

He saw the ripples in his ale before he realized there were actually tears dripping off his chin. He didn't really give a fuck at the moment though; if they were there, then they needed to be, was what his swimming brain concluded. So they rolled steadily down his face, and Sanji the Strawhat pirate, the White Knight of Love, Mr. Prince and all that jazz, did absolutely nothing to stop them.

"Hey," Ed said quietly, a kind hand resting on the cook's thin shoulder, "you okay? You look pretty wrecked."

"'m drunk," he said by way of explanation.

"That's not what I meant."

All of a sudden Sanji wanted to leave. His buzz wasn't going how he wanted; he was still thinking and feeling too much. He was feeling _more_, in fact, than he had sober. And he didn't want this total stranger coddling him, telling him "it'll be okay," like he was some weepy little girl, and it wasn't okay, it hadn't been okay for two months, and even less okay these past nine days, and with the way things were going, nothing was ever going to be okay again. And that was scary. Sanji had ambition and reckless dreams he wanted to pursue; that's why he joined that psycho-crew in the first place. And now all his plans of finding All Blue and shoving it in that shitty old man's face were about to crash and burn, all because of one jackass who had to go and ruin Sanji's everything.

And it scared him to realize that all of this was utterly true, and utterly, heart-wrenchingly unfixable.

"Look, I'm sorry, I just ─" Ed tried, stopped, and then tried again. "Look…just take a breath…tell me what happened."

"'What happened'?"

"Yeah. From start to finish. Tell me what went on with you guys."

"It's long as shit," he warned.

"Whatever. I've got nothin' better to do."

Sanji laughed once and took another large swig of booze. "Right, well…we were in this shitty town called Pandina, about three islands back…"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After an hour and a half, plus another round of ale, Sanji and Ed sat in relative silence. The bar was still full of patrons, and the music pumped through the room, making the cook's bones rattle and his head throb slightly. These people never got tired of partying, apparently. Sanji wasn't drowning himself in the alcohol anymore, because he was a little worried that illness or death was right around the corner from his current state. He could hardly fucking sit up straight, and after a while he quit trying, and simply sprawled out on the bar top, his hair slightly damp from where the bartender failed to wipe around it. Ed was in better shape, considerably more upright than Sanji. He'd been quiet all through Sanji's harrowing, tragic tale, and the cook merely sat there waiting for the kind words and sympathizing pats which, after having to relive all the shit a second time, didn't seem like such a bad thing anymore. Ed would probably say something like, "I'm terribly sorry," or "Oh dear, you've suffered so much," or even, "How did you ever manage to survive all this, dear, brave sir?"

Then Ed took a deep breath. Yep, Sanji called it. Here came the consolation.

"You're kind of an asshole, aren't you?"

The cook blinked. And again. "Wha─"

"And you're dumb."

"Wait, what─"

"No, hang on, let's see if I've got all this straight!" Ed barreled on, shifting in his seat so he faced the speechless blonde. "So you were at this place?"

"Right," Sanji nodded.

"You see your crewmate tonguing some whore who then tried to pick his pocket. He sees you watching him, and corners you later, wigs you out, and then kisses you just because?"

"Yeah."

"So later that night, when you're all back on your ship, you attack him in his hammock, and the two of you go at it like sex-starved bunnies?"

"Y-Yeah…"

"And you keep doing this every day, two or three times a day, for two months before this guys suddenly calls it quits nine days ago, no explanation, no nothing, just over?"

"Yep."

"And during those two months, you said this guy seemed pretty upbeat, he hung around you more, which bugged you, and he did small, nice shit for you here and there, which was really weird?"

"Well…"

"And after _every single_ _time_ you guys fucked during those two months, you'd always remind him it was just a distraction, and he was to keep absolutely silent about it?"

"Um."

"And you said it was odd that this guy was always keyed up and ready before the sex, and then afterwards, after you said that shitty mantra every time, he always seemed really down?"

"I-I─"

"And you don't _fucking get what happened_?!"

The cook's mouth snapped shut. Ed was suddenly pissed, and Sanji hadn't a damn clue what to say, and it looked like the other was about to go on a tirade, anyway.

"Shit, look, I know you're probably a nice guy, and intelligent n' all, but when it comes to important stuff like this you're a fucking moron, aren't you?"

"Stuff like what?" Sanji demanded, feeling himself bristle slightly, forcing himself to sit up and having to claw at the counter to stop from tilting right out of his chair.

"This kind of stuff! Relationship stuff! You don't get it!"

"Now, you listen!" Sanji said, wobbly finger pointed at Ed's chest. "I'm drunk, I'm tired, n' I've had a shitty-ass week, n' you aren't makin' any sense! Essplain! Now!"

"I shouldn't have to explain. It should be fucking obvious!"

"Fucker, I─"

"He fell in love with you, idiot!"

There was a pause in Sanji's life just then. The dancing on the stages, the music playing from the back, the people passing by outside, Sanji's heart; all of it halted for the span of a second. He was pretty sure this had to be a dream. Or maybe a hallucination. It couldn't be real. That just wasn't fair. It wasn't a relief or a fucking epiphany; it was fucking awful. Sanji's insides rebelled so fitfully at the thought, that he couldn't even entertain it for longer than a breath, and he was seriously afraid that he was just gonna keel over and fucking die right there! And he still couldn't figure out _why_!

"If…" Sanji started, surprised by the sound of his own voice floating free, asking what only his subconscious could think of. "If he loves me, why'd he stop…being with me?"

Not sex. He hadn't called it sex. And that was fucked up too.

"'Cuz," Ed said, calmer than before, "you kept saying it was a distraction. You made it clear that you didn't want anything else from it. But he did. And you were taking advantage of him. So he quit."

And without warning, Nami-san's words from the day of the Marine fight floated back to him just then, as if they'd suddenly taken on deeper meaning, _"Please, Sanji, we're talking about a guy who tried to chop his own damn legs off… don't you think he could handle a few days without sex…insignificant things like that don't get to him…"_

Marimo hadn't been in it for the sex. Sex wasn't a big deal for him, he was a swordsman; he'd trained himself not to need that sort of attention. Sure he might _enjoy _it, but he didn't fucking _need _it. Which only left one other reason he'd crawl into bed with Sanji every single night: because Sanji needed it. He'd been doing it for him. Because Zoro wanted to be around him, with him, and it should have been fucking obvious.

That was it. That was why. That was the reason behind it all; the guilt, the confusion. In a way, then, he'd always known. Always suspected there had been something under the surface. He felt it but never acknowledged it. It was too big. Always had been. Much bigger than he. And he'd heard stories about people in love. Had heard the expression "falling in love," over and over. But that was misleading. One can't simply fall into love, and that's the end. Eventually you hit the bottom. And who knows what the hell is down there. Maybe Sanji felt that; felt his toes at the edge of the cliff, and panicked, because it hadn't been the cliff he had wanted, it was too high up, the bottom was too dark, he couldn't see what was there. Maybe nothing was there. But if nothing could be there, didn't that mean everything could be there too? Maybe he should jump. Maybe he already had, and all this shit, all this torment and sleepless nights and ugly thoughts were simply the fall. The long fall before the sudden stop.

He didn't know if this was really love. He thought love would feel more floaty, and less of a guilt-and-frustration Molotov cocktail. But maybe this love was different. Maybe it was more real than all the "loves" he'd ever had before; countless, faceless girls he'd never see more than once. And maybe it wasn't there at all. But Sanji had a feeling, as he stared at the freshly cleaned bar top, that he was going to find that particular answer fairly soon. And suddenly the calm that he had been waiting for, the clarity like a new day dawning that he was supposed to get from being so toasted, swept over him at that very moment. And really, he preferred it this way.

"He loves me?" Sanji had to hear it again. Just one more time. Just to be sure.

Ed nodded. "I think he does, yeah."

He sighed, deep, exhausted, but determined. "Okay."

* * *

Sorry I take so long to update here!! College is crazy-in-a-can, right now, and my brain pretty much doesn't exist. The next chapter is the last, and I'll try and update faster!!

* * *


	8. Chapter Seven: The End

**TITLE**: The Way to a Man's Heart

**AUTHOR**: endsoftime

**PAIRING**: ZoroxSanji

**RATING**: NC-17

**NOTES**: I own nothing regarding One Piece...other than Ed. I take full responsibility for Ed.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**--Falling Through to Life

Sanji ambled through the mostly silent port town, trying not to stumble enough to catch anyone's attention. There weren't many people around, but still; the cook kind of wanted to be invisible for a little while.

Ed had wrung his hand when Sanji first mentioned leaving the Gay-Bar-He-Was-Only-At-By-Accident-Goddamnit, making continual offers of more booze, or more advice, and perhaps some cuddling, to the point that the cook was afraid he'd have to inflict bodily harm on his new "friend." Ed eventually got the point, and disentangled himself from the slightly growling blonde. He chatted amicably with Sanji as he walked him to the door, as if he owned the fucking place ─ and maybe he did, Sanji sure as shit hadn't bothered to find out ─ but once they reached the exit, Ed abruptly sobered, and stopped the cook before he could leave, gripping his thin wrist firmly.

"You have to talk to him," he said, utterly grave. "Seriously. Tonight."

"Yeah, I will," Sanji sighed. Ed looked at him pointedly. "I will! Tonight. Seriously."

That had been three hours ago.

And Sanji was really no closer to being okay with this than when he walked out of the bar. The epiphany concerning the swordsman and…all this shit had felt like a soothing balm on Sanji's overworked mind; for a while, he was just content to finally know what the fuck, exactly, was going on. But now…now he was slowly beginning to feel terrified. What was he supposed to do with this information? Obviously, Ed thought he should scurry right over to the _Merry_ and confess everything to his scorned lover. And that was all great and grand and wonderful, except that Sanji wasn't even totally sure _what_ he should be confessing. Zoro might lo─…have certain, non-hateful feelings towards the cook, but he wasn't sure he felt the same way.

Which made very familiar claws of guilt tickle unpleasantly at his insides all over again, but he couldn't help it. He'd never honestly thought about whether he lo─…also felt certain, non-hateful feelings towards the swordsman. The thought never even occurred to him before his drunken gay-bar conversation. Really.

Well, sort of.

Maybe not.

_Whatever! _the cook raved in his skull. _Even if I __**have**__ thought about it ─ just a little bit, purely hypothetical ─ that doesn't mean…I mean, it doesn't make me…ugh…fuck._

Sanji halted, sighing deeply for perhaps the millionth time since he'd begun wandering through Gensi. There, dead ahead of him, was exactly the place he didn't want to be; _Merry_, floating happily in the moon-lit port, the ram figurehead almost seeming to wink at him. He'd been turning down every street and alley he came across, trying as hard as he could to get desperately lost in the tiny town, because then at least he'd have an excuse for why he wasn't rushing off to confront Zoro that very second. But where the swordsman seemed chronically unable to go the right way in any given location, Sanji apparently couldn't go the wrong way. Every time he was positive he'd gotten himself thoroughly turned around, he'd look up and suddenly BAM! That goddamn ship with the goddamn ram who had the goddamn gall to _wink _at Sanji would always be there, right in front of him, no matter where the fuck he was in town.

_Is this a fucking parallel dimension, what the hell right now?!_ _This is nowhere near as easy as that shitty swordsman makes it look. He probably practices, or something equally as retarded. _

But seriously, since when was getting lost was such a fucking art form? And why the hell was Sanji failing so miserably at it? It was as if some Higher Power had nothing else planned in His Almighty Agenda, and now saw fit to throw Sanji's problems right in his face, making it impossible to forget, even for a second. Although, in some fairness, his own treacherous mind wasn't helping, since all it seemed to want to focus on included Zoro, and sex, and love, and Ed, and Zoro having sex with Ed and loving it, and that last image made Sanji roar fitfully, grab onto a lantern pole and attempt to bash his head in, until he realized he'd actually stopped next to a sidewalk bistro, a bistro with innocent customers who were watching him rather concernedly, and Sanji decided he should save the self mutilation for a more secluded spot. Hushed whispers followed his rapidly retreating back.

So much for being fucking invisible.

He spun around and walked the other direction, making a couple more futile attempts at buying himself some time. Time to do what, he didn't really know. Maybe he should be preparing a speech or something. But what would he say? What did he _need_ to say? An apology? He'd rather be dumped in a vat of live, wriggling spiders big enough to swallow his head whole. Apologies were high on the list of things that never happened with him and the swordsman, and given other, more intimate things that had happened, it seemed sort of ridiculous that a simple, "I'm sorry," would be so impossible to force out, but no one ever said their relationship wasn't dysfunctional. If they even had a relationship. Which they didn't, not really. There wasn't actually anything between him and the marimo other than a disturbingly fierce rivalry, a few weeks of sex and one horrifically fucked up chasm of a situation that looked to be getting wider by the second. And, honestly, even if he was willing to smother his pride enough, Sanji kind of doubted that a, "Whoops, my bad," would really patch this problem up. But he still couldn't figure out what _would_ fix it.

He sighed, trailing to a stop again. There was _Merry_, floating in front of him just like he knew she would be when he looked up. She always was, it seemed. She winked again, inviting Sanji over; apparently even his goddamn ship wanted him to talk to the shitty swordsman. And, his Male Pride which had been silent the last couple of days growlingly pointed out, why shouldn't he just do it? Sanji was a man. A real man, not some fucking coward. And since when did real men pussyfoot around shit? Never. And, more importantly, when had Sanji _ever_ missed an opportunity to piss the moss-head off? It was what he lived for, practically ─ besides fawning over the ladies, of course! ─ and he didn't know why he was so hesitant to go give that asshole a piece of his tormented and overly strained mind, when he wouldn't even have to _think_ before doing it any other day.

The cook lit up the first of his new pack of cigarettes, surprised that he'd actually forgotten about them up 'til now. He exhaled the smoke in a heavy sigh, and he'd been doing way too much of that for his tastes.

Yeah, he was a coward. Yeah, he was pussyfooting around it. Yeah, he was hesitating even broaching this subject with his hulking idiot. Because this wasn't like all the other times he'd gotten pissed at Zoro. He wasn't even actually sure he was pissed at him. Really, Sanji didn't think the swordsman had done anything wrong, although that _did_ sort of irk him; he didn't _want_ to admit that this was all his fault. But Sanji wasn't a liar, and he knew Zoro sure as shit didn't _force_ Sanji to be a complete asshole to him. And if he was totally honest with himself, he'd have to admit that he sort of did know how to fix all this. It wouldn't be easy, but it was fucking obvious. And yet….

And yet he couldn't go through with it. Too much was riding on this moment; this conversation that needed to happen, but was too complicated to start. Sanji knew ─ oh, he knew very well ─ what could solve all of this. Ed practically drew him a goddamned diagram back at the bar. But still….it wasn't as simple as all that, and…..and Sanji didn't want to get too deep into something he couldn't get out of, especially with the _swordsman_, the last person he ever figured he would fall in─…

It wasn't _fair_ though, to make Sanji go through all this; this was his life, and things might get way too fucked up if he has this little shitty chat with the marimo, and he didn't think he could handle that sort of lack of control in _his own goddamn life_, and really, hadn't he suffered enough?

_Hey, smile shitty bastard…_

That's what Zoro said, the day the Marines attacked, and Sanji wasn't sure what made him think of it. That's what Zoro said in the storage room, after he'd…

_You got what you always wanted…_

But it _wasn't _what he…but Zoro just kept going, eyes black, sealed, and that _fucking sneer_…

_I'm out of the picture…_

"No!" Sanji muttered, flicking the cigarette from his lips and crushing it under heel. No, he hadn't suffered enough, because someone else had suffered more. Suffered because of _him._ And like hell was Sanji gonna let that shit slide. So with one last, steeling sigh, the cook turned and marched straight for the Strawhat ship, and that particular green-haired nakama keeping watch. He refused to think about what he was doing; refused to think about any of the shitty consequences that might come about. Sanji was a man, goddamnit. It was time to stop thinking about shit and start doing some shit, if he was ever gonna get what he wanted. And maybe he didn't actually know what he wanted, but fuck all if he was gonna think about it anymore.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Going Merry_ wasn't hard to find, given how ridiculously hard she'd been to lose. But, Sanji-The-Fearless-Cook was a tad bit dismayed to find that Zoro also wasn't too difficult to locate. Really, he never had been; the swordsman was very much a creature of habit, and he had relatively few habits, meaning there were only a handful of places he would be. Plus, the ship was tiny as hell. It wouldn't have taken long to track the bastard down, even if he _hadn't_ been standing right out on the deck, leaning over the rail slightly with his back to Sanji, staring at the moon.

Sanji swallowed thickly. Zoro'd heard his footsteps, he had to have; he was the fucking swordsman, after all. And the fact that he wasn't acknowledging Sanji at all meant he knew exactly who had just boarded the ship. So there was no backing out now. Resisting the temptation to heave another, reassuring sigh ─ because real men _never_ sigh as fucking much as the cook had in the last few days! ─ Sanji lit up another cigarette for something normal he could latch on to, and made his move.

Smooth, quiet, completely non-confrontational, the cook slid up beside the swordsman, resting his back against the rail. He took a deep lungful of smoke and exhaled it as evenly as he could. Phase One: Approach the Fucker was complete, and his nerves were on high alert. He didn't know what he'd expected would happen when he invaded the moss-head's tranquility, but he figured he'd get at least some sort of reaction. But no; Zoro's eyes never once left that spot in the night sky, and he didn't even twitch or fidget or anything at having Sanji so inexplicably close. True, there were a good three or four feet between them, but it was the closest the two had been since…well, in a while, anyway. It made Sanji's gut do weird, squirmy things, but he was ignoring that, just like he was ignoring all the misgivings and second thoughts his brain was firing off rapidly.

"Hey asshole," he started, "you're on watch, aren't you? Shouldn't you be watching something threatening? I don't think the moon's gonna launch a sneak attack when your back's turned." Paused for another draw of smoke. "I mean, shit, _I_ managed to sneak up on you."

"Like fuck," Zoro grunted, gaze tilted up. "I've smelled that shitty girl-perfume you steal from Nami waft by here about twenty damn times. The hell were you pacing around for, aho?"

Sanji bristled on two counts of embarrassment, all sense of caution and tact flying out the window as he bit the bait, just like he always did. "Fucker, I'd never steal anything from my darling Nami-swan! And I wasn't pacing! And shut up!"

"So then you buy that smelly shit yourself?"

"No I don't I _borrowed _it, and─OI, fuck you!"

Zoro cracked something like a grin, a sharp sound sort of similar to a snicker squeezing through his defenses, and Sanji didn't give a shit if he _had _just admitted to using perfume, because really, it didn't seem so bad at the moment. The squirmy things in his stomach were mating and causing more squirmy things to begin wiggling there, and it was a little uncomfortable, but he preferred it to the acidy sickness any damn day. So he pursed his lips around his cigarette to fight the grin pulling at his own mouth, and sort of forgot about his mission, wanting simply to live in that one quiet moment without guilt and anger and pain and all those other fucked up things that had hung so heavily between them for way too long a time. 'Cuz just then, it was simple. For just that moment, it was nice.

"So what were you pacing for, cook? Some chick give you slip again?"

But, Sanji figured, his karma probably wasn't good enough yet to allow nice things to last. He snorted, leering around the cig in his mouth, "Ladies never give me the slip, man."

"Then what the fuck were you doing?"

"I was…" _What? Wandering around, trying to figure out what I could say to you to make everything go back to normal? To try to explain how I feel, 'cuz hell if I even know, but all I'm sure of is that I'm hurting you and I'd leap off the highest peak in fucking Skypeia and fall all the way back down, if I thought it'd make you not hurt anymore?_

Somehow it seemed like a bad idea to just blab all that, or maybe it was a genius idea, but Sanji wasn't ready for Zoro to know any of that, even if he was only putting off the inevitable for another ten minutes or so. It made a fucking difference to him!

"I'm drunk, asshole. Couldn't figure out where the damn ship was," he half-lied.

"Sure as shit don't seem drunk to me," Zoro said, but how could he even tell, he hadn't glanced Sanji's way since the cook had shown up. But, again, Zoro was odd like that. Sanji guessed the swordsman already knew him well enough to tell whether he was wasted without even needing to look at him. The thought was creepy and strangely flattering all at once, and Sanji wished some more mugs of ale would magically appear next to his elbow on the ship's rail, to perhaps make some of this shit make more sense. He was still partially drunk, but sober enough to make things confusing.

"Well I am, marimo-head!" the blonde spat back, proving once and for all what a fucking child he could be about some things.

"If you're drunk, why'd you wander your ass all the way over here? Your inn's about three buildings down that way," the swordsman countered, and twitched his head vaguely in the direction of the town. And those eyes never _fucking left _the moon. Was it healthy to feel jealous of a lifeless, celestial orb billions of miles away? Most likely not.

Sanji growled. It was a very, very bad sign indeed when _Zoro_ was kicking his ass in a battle of wits. The bastard had an answer for everything, and he refused to give the cook any leeway, as if he _knew_ why Sanji was there, and he was just tormenting him. And he knew he shouldn't let it get to him, he'd lose sight of what he really came here for, but fuck it, Sanji let it get to him. The shitty swordsman always got to him.

"Well you're so fucking smart, you tell me, asshole!"

The swordsman turned on him, just then, and Sanji finally had those eyes to himself, but now he wished they were looking at anything else _but_ him. Those dark eyes distant, cold, edged like a deadly blade, boring into his, and he wished he were on a different island entirely, or dead.

"What do you want, Sanji?"

Not so much a question as it was a demand, low and suspicious, carrying traces of that old malice, and maybe a dash of hurt, just enough to really make sure Sanji hated himself, in case his self-esteem might have lifted in the past few hours. Which it hadn't, and he didn't think he could sink any lower, but there he was, knee-deep in hell, and no where to go but further down.

Shaking. The shaking had started again, duller than before, but unmistakably there as Sanji yanked the spent butt from his mouth and jammed a fresh cigarette into place, taking some extra strikes of the match to get the fucker lit properly. "I don't want anything," he muttered, another half-lie. He did want something. Just not what Zoro thought he wanted. Hell, Sanji wasn't even sure what he wanted still, but he knew it wasn't that.

_You got what you always wanted…_

No, nothing like that. Nothing that would cause that much fucking pain. Not again.

"Then why the fuck are you here?"

A sigh. "Listen, Zoro, I just wanted ─"

"No! Do _not_ pull this bullshit with me, shit-cook, I don't wanna hear you justifying any of this fucking mess, so just ─"

"Fucker, if you'd _listen_, I could explain ─"

"I don't wanna hear your shitty explanation, I just want you to tell me what the fuck you want from me so you can hurry the fuck up and get the fuck out of ─"

"That's what I'm _trying to do, asshole_!" Sanji screamed, hearing it echo off the still water for the brief halt in the argument following his outburst. He heaved dramatically; Zoro was utterly motionless, face and eyes shadowed by the moon light directly behind him.

"Then what?" Quiet, but so, so powerful.

Sanji sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying hard not to gnash straight through the filter clenched in his teeth. "Look, I just wanted…uh…I-I just…wanted….FUCK!"

Sanji ripped the cigarette from his mouth and fisted a hand in his hair, cursing and cursing and cursing himself to an ugly, early death for being such a goddamn _coward_ he couldn't even do what he'd come here to do. So pissed and so ashamed that he'd let anything get in the way of what he wanted, even if it was pride, even if it was dignity, it was no fucking excuse, 'cuz with how much the swordsman _fucking hated him_,he might never get another chance, and things would always stay this painful and wrong, and Sanji might've cried, except it wouldn't help his situation anyway.

_Why? Why is this so fucking hard?_

"What is it?" A little gentler, maybe, then the other times the swordsman had asked, but that was probably just Sanji being pathetic that made it seem that way.

Eyes locked on the wooden deck drenched in moonlight, the cook heaved another sigh, and decided fuck it. He was sick of thinking. His tired brain simply shut off, his mouth opened, and…

"You never told me."

Sanji didn't know what unholy things his subconscious was spewing forth, or why he somehow felt he needed to say whatever his inner mind had wrapped up and hidden from him, but obviously thinking and planning had failed him dismally, and he didn't think things really could get worse, but with his luck all new levels of "shitty" were about to be discovered, and yet…he couldn't help but think that following his instincts was honestly his best hope for…well, something.

There was a gut-wrenchingly tense moment following that statement, where nothing stirred, no one moved, Sanji wasn't even breathing anymore, and he almost expected to be murdered right there for his insolence and insensitivity.

A deep sigh, sounding like defeat, came from the swordsman just then. "No," he said calmly. "I never did."

Four words. Nothing more. Simple as that. But there was absolutely no way in hell that it could possibly _be_ that simple! Zoro was supposed to turn livid, see red, shout and rage denials and accusations and _fucking pummel Sanji's fat head into the ground_! Retribution! Hatred! Disgust! Why had all of that suddenly vanished? The cook had taken advantage of Zoro! Then mocked him about it afterwards! Okay, so maybe he hadn't been aware of it at the time, but that didn't fucking matter, not really! He'd rebuked him, used him, and _fucking got him shot_!

So why the cool solemnity? Why the sudden acceptance and patience? And why did Zoro seem so fucking _sad_ about it? Why the fuck would Zoro feel _bad_ about all this instead of pissed off like any other of their petty fights?

_Because, idiot_, that nagging, Nami-esque voice muttered in his head, _There's nothing petty about love._

Sanji really needed to get these voices checked out some fine day. In the meantime, however, he simply marveled at how amazingly insightful they were. Was it healthy to want to fall prostrate and adore a disembodied voice because it reminded him of one of his goddesses, even though the voice was merely an extension of his own subconscious? Probably not.

He frowned at the swordsman, whose gaze had since left him and rested now on the gently rolling waters below. "Why?"

"Well for one," Zoro said, allowing a trickle of humor to touch his otherwise dark tone, "I kind of got the hint that you weren't interested shoved in my face a couple hundred times a day. And for two, you're a dumbass."

He fixed the side of the swordsman's head with a stony look. "Don't fuck around. Seriously. Why?"

Zoro sighed again, and there really, _really_ had been too much of that coming from two grown-ass pirate men, and Sanji was a little disgusted with them both, but mostly himself. Zoro shifted slightly, his eyes still trained on the ocean shallows. Sanji watched the small waves play moonlight off the swordsman's dark skin, making the dips of his furrowed brow sharper; his black eyes glittering slightly. Sanji doubted he'd ever seen the other man think this intensely about anything, and kind of wondered if he ever had before. Zoro was never one for lengthy consideration. He let his swords do the talking for him, and they were wonderful conversationalists, if you were a fan of bleeding. It was definitely the weirdest sight Sanji had ever witnessed, and only slightly weirder than the suddenly apparent fact that Sanji knew so damn much about the swordsman.

"You're staring at me."

The cook started out of something like a trance, blinking stupidly, only to turn away with a sulky pout. "I asked you a fucking question, and I want an answer," was his shitty defense.

Again Zoro sighed. "Words are stupid."

"So are you!" Sanji bit back. "Shit, is it that fucking hard for you to come up with a reason why─"

"That's not what I─" but Zoro broke off with a barely-contained roar of frustration. "You see? That's why I hate explaining shit! It's too damn easy to take it the wrong way!" Sanji was about to argue back, but Zoro was already talking again, voice like a forced calm. "Words are…I don't like using them to explain things. Important things. Words are awkward and…they get twisted too easily." He paused, his features evening out a bit. "Actions are better; more direct. It's pretty damn hard to get a fight confused with something else. You put your all into a good fight, and no questions are asked, 'cuz they don't need to be; there's no confusion. It doesn't matter how many different motives and feelings are behind it, at the end of the day a punch is still a punch, and no one can twist that."

And yeah, that was wonderfully astute, but it didn't answer Sanji's damn question. "Actions can be confusing too, though," he said, just wanting to contradict, because that's what he always did.

"They are when you don't fucking know what you want," Zoro growled back, making the cook's eyes go wide and his mouth snap shut. A blow, very, very close to home, but a much deserved blow at that.

"Zoro, just…" Sanji had to literally _stop breathing_ to intercept the next shitty sigh that tried to escape him, "Just tell me why you…y'know, never…told me…"

"You suck at conversations."

"Shut the fuck up!"

"You just said you wanted me to explain."

"I─…fuck, I hate you. Just talk already!"

Zoro's frown returned, and any tiny little twitch of his lips that might have been a result of their familiar, much-missed jibing was utterly gone now. He shifted again, turning around and leaning his back to the rail, muscled arms crossed over that broad chest, and his dark eyes seemingly fascinated with the wood beneath his feet.

"I meant what I said about words; about not liking to have to explain certain things. Well, yeah, it can be hard to get my point across, but especially…if I don't even know what I'm fucking talking about."

Sanji's curled eyebrow quirked. "Huh?"

Zoro groaned, not quite a sigh, which was definitely a step in the right direction. "I'm talking about…this whole 'love' thing, aho-cook. I know fuck all about it. I assume that's what…all this weirdness is, but I don't fucking know. 'S not like I've ever been in love before, or really ever had someone love me, so how am I supposed to know what the hell this is? I can only guess, and that works fine for me, but it doesn't really go over too well when I have to explain it to inconsistent fucktards like you."

"Oi, watch it asshole!"

"So, why didn't I tell you?" Zoro went on, without missing abeat. "Because I wasn't even totally sure what it was myself. Do I know now?" Zoro shrugged slightly, "All I can tell you for sure is what it feels like."

It may have been the soft light from the moon overhead. It may have been the echoes of romantic music from the sidewalk bistros that managed to waft all the way out to the docks. It may have been the immeasurable amounts of alcohol Sanji'd downed back at goddamned gay-bar. Whichever it was, it grabbed hold of the cook and refused to let his attention drift even a centimeter from the swordsman as he spoke.

"It's sort of like drowning," Zoro said. "That sort of helplessness when you can't breathe and your whole body's like lead. And everything goes black. You can't see, you can't move, you can't really even think beyond the need for air…the need for that person. And it's kind of like falling. Like jumping into a dark ravine, or something, where you can't see the bottom, but you know there's something down there that you have to find. And you know you'll probably die in the fall, but it doesn't matter, 'cuz without whatever's down there, you'll die anyway. So it's like falling and drowning, but it's also like a long nap, or getting drunk; that sort of muzzy, floaty feeling, like nothing can touch you and the whole world's gotta move aside when you walk by."

A slight breeze ruffled the swordsman's choppy hair, and laughter from a gaggle of adorably stumbling girls drifted on the wind, but there was a weird swelling in Sanji's chest suddenly, and Zoro was talking again, and nothing else seemed as important.

"That's what it feels like whenever I'm around you; doesn't matter when, or why, or for how long. It feels like all of that at once. And I don't know if I love you, but I know that I never want those feelings to go away. I don't know if I love you, but I know that I want you. Only you, all of you, everything about you, I want all of it. Always. I don't know if that's love; I guess you can call anything love, if you wanted." Zoro looked up, his dark eyes locking with a wide, startled blue one, as he said, "It's what you feel and what you do with it that's important. Love's just a word, anyway."

Some animal or something was making a gentle sound off in the distance somewhere, and the wind was carrying a refined lady's perfume over to their docked ship, and she smelled beautiful, she very well may have been, but there wasn't much of anything that Sanji thought was important enough to tear him away from whatever this was.

"You're staring at me."

In a way, he didn't want to believe it. He wanted to run away and hide from all the frankness and honesty. It was too much. And yet he was slowly leaning in, hand raised slightly, not knowing why, and hoping one last, desperate time that it wasn't this, was anything but _this_. It was too vast. Too much. Too terrifyingly close to everything Sanji had been feeling the last two months, and especially these past nine days. But when his eyes met those eyes, and his hand touched that strong jaw, he knew he couldn't blame it on moonlight or romantic songs, or inebriation. The moment his gaze met those burning, intensely truthful orbs, Sanji knew he could be in a barren wasteland, with no light, no sound, no booze, and still be this enthralled, this entranced, this completely ensnared.

Because he was looking over the edge of the cliff. And he was going to jump.

Slow, agonizingly slow, Sanji moved them together, him leaning in, Zoro allowing himself to be pulled forward. Their breath mingled for no longer than a second, Sanji shivering at the lovely charge he got just before his lips finally pressed against the swordsman's. It had been so long, but felt so familiar.

Deep, probing, kisses that burned and pleaded for more, and before long Sanji felt a hand cradle his neck, angling his head back as a confident tongue slid between his lips, curling around his own tongue, and the cook was starting to realize exactly what he'd done when he suddenly couldn't feel the floor beneath him. Warm breath gusted lightly over his face, as another hand was planted firmly on his lower back, dragging him closer so he could feel every ripple of muscle under warm skin, and a tiny whimper was swallowed into Zoro's mouth. His thin hands gripped at the short, green hair forcing Zoro's tongue deeper, more desperately, kisses now almost frantic. A hot, curling fire was building in Sanji's gut, and it was getting harder to breath, so he hung on tighter even as the tremors started shaking him when his chest got too tight. He needed air, but he refused to let go. Too scared to pull back and look reality in the face. It was all whirling by too fast, even as he kissed harder, sucking on the swordsman's tongue as though that alone could keep him alive.

Falling. It felt like falling.

The trembling was getting worse. Those strong hands ran up and down his back, soothing, trying to tell Sanji it would be okay, but how could they know? Sanji stepped off the cliff, and now he couldn't tell what the hell was going on, or where he was, or what he was even doing, and he was too frightened to open his eyes, to look around the bottom, fearing what would be there. Nothing might be there. And that would utterly kill him.

"Sanji." He hadn't even noticed when they stopped kissing, but his lungs were heaving for air, and there was heat that was getting hotter spreading over his cheeks and neck. He could feel his pulse hammering in his veins. "Sanji," that voice murmured again in his ear.

With a shuddering sigh and a silent prayer, he slowly opened his eyes, finally owning up to everything he'd started, everything he'd fought for, and looked around to see what was at the bottom of his cliff.

Zoro.

Not love, or sentimental words, or romantic, candle-lit evenings. Just Zoro.

But he was worth more than all that other shit anyway. He was all Sanji really wanted. All he had ever wanted. All that was finally his.

And he couldn't believe what a fucking moron he'd been.

And he pulled Zoro's mouth back to his roughly, needing his taste, needing him more than he'd ever needed anything. Hooking a long leg around the swordsman's muscular calf, Sanji rolled his hips slightly, moaning at the friction and the soft gasp from his lover, and the way those hands gripped his hips harder, dragging their fast growing erections together slowly but firmly, feeling every inch of each other that they could through the clothes.

"Bed," Zoro growled as he bit Sanji's lip and yanked his shirt from his pants. "Now!"

The cook shivered but made no move to break away from his lover, in fact he held on tighter, licking at the other's jaw and clinging to his shoulders. They stumbled awkwardly towards the storage room, nearly falling in a heap as they tried to make it over the threshold while hands gripped and tore at clothing, their lips never far from a patch of skin. One of them kicked the door shut behind them, although Sanji wasn't sure if it'd been him or Zoro, but it didn't seem to matter, because before he ever got his bearings, he was being shoved onto the cot that'd been stowed in the corner of the dark room for occasions just such as this, although not quite as meaningful. Sanji was very suddenly aware of how long it had been since he was last thrown down on this shitty pile of blankets, and how much he'd missed it.

But the time for reminiscing was well and over when the shirtless swordsman crawled up Sanji's sprawled body like a tiger stalking his prey, and just looking into those eyes was enough to make the cook shiver straight to his core. And then Zoro's mouth was on him, catching his lips in a searing kiss that left him panting and lifting his hips and wanting more. Large, calloused hands ran up his back underneath the open shirt still draped over his shoulders, and he really needed to fix that. But it seemed Zoro had been thinking the same thing, and without any bullshit or a second wasted, the swordsman grabbed two handfuls of the material and ripped it soundly from Sanji's body, and he didn't even give a shit. If anything, it just made him whine harder and wrap his legs around Zoro's waist, rolling into him and seeing sparks as the intense pleasure washed through him, stoking the fire even hotter. Zoro just snarled and bit down hard on the cook's collarbone, making him yelp and writhe helplessly beneath the other's solid frame, clawing at muscular shoulders while those skilled hands worked at relieving him of his pants that were tight to the point of painful.

His belt went first, followed by the _klunk_ of his shoes hitting the floor. The sound of his zipper being pulled open made him shudder again, and the sudden release of pressure on his throbbing cock had his head thrown back, panting harder. He couldn't ever remember getting this hard, this fast before. He figured it was just something about Zoro. Something that made Sanji need to be taken and utterly ravished. He didn't really give a shit why or how, he just hooked his heels in the swordsman's pants and started edging them down, because that fire in his gut was getting hotter and if something didn't happen _now_ he was pretty sure he'd die.

Sanji's slacks and boxers hit the floor, followed quickly by heavy boots and a second pair of pants, and finally _fuck yes!_ Sanji could feel it, feel everything, hot and sticky and exactly what he'd missed so much during those shitty nine days; not the pleasure, or the release of tension, but the _fucking feel_ of it. Those corded thighs between his, spreading him wide, that impossibly hard cock rubbing against his own throbbing member, firm hands running over his chest and a long tongue leaving a burning trail of saliva along his neck. It didn't take long for that tongue to get restless, and slowly Zoro licked his way down Sanji's throat, biting at his Adam's apple slightly before trailing down, playing in the hollows of the cook's collarbone. Long pale fingers tugged at green hair, encouraging, demanding more, and the swordsman did not disappoint, leaving a trail of wet kisses and sharp little nips along the smooth chest before finding a rosy nipple. That tongue lashed at it once, experimentally, and Sanji cried out shamelessly, jerking and twisting his head from side to side as that warm mouth enveloped the sensitive flesh, teeth worrying the hardening nub with just enough pain to make the cook crush Zoro's head against his chest, clench his legs around that waist, and moan slack-jawed at the ceiling, all coherent thought about a thousand miles away, and not returning any time soon.

It wasn't until Zoro's expert tongue had started darting in and out of his belly-button, making Sanji gasp little whimpers of pleasure that were decidedly unmanly, did a grey, very vague sort of notion descend and actually managed to cut through Sanji's blissful haze to unsettle him somewhat. He didn't know what it was, until that tongue had travelled further down, licking at his hip bone while a large hand massaged his thigh, teasing him, prolonging what the next obvious action would be. And without really knowing why, or even giving a shit, Sanji's hands gripped at the swordsman's head, and rather abruptly hauled him back up for a deep, powerful kiss.

"Don't," he whispered against moist lips, and with no further explanation, he rolled them both over with a twist of his strong hips and attacked Zoro's own chest with a vengeance.

And it was worth the agony of his ignored cock to hear those deep, rumbling groans and to feel that utterly perfect body arching and shuddering underneath him. He wasn't really sure why, but Sanji just knew that this was something he wanted to ─ no, _had_─ to do. He _had_ to tweak and lick at dusky nipples, hearing the swordsman's breath hiss through tightly clenched teeth, and he _had _to trail his tongue down every inch of that massive scar, savoring the hard muscles that shook all around him, choked off moans making the blonde shiver with want, and that other, strange feeling from earlier that was steadily swelling in his chest. It was only fair, his sex-addled brain decided as he tongued gently at the angry gun-shot wound, dancing tenderly around the coarse thread of the stitches, nibbling at the soft flesh between hip and thigh, nuzzling slightly into the sticky heat that smelled strongly of sweat and musk and made Sanji's mouth water. It was only fair that after all the times he'd been ravished beyond belief, and all the times he had sneeringly refused to do anything of the sort, and after all the _shit_ he'd put the swordsman through, and after how much he'd _fucking missed_ being so close to him, after all that, he ─ he figured the marimo at least deserved ─ he ─ oh fuck, what was this, this…this didn't feel…

"Hnnn!" Sanji whimpered like a kicked dog, as a violent shudder stole down his spine, and not the pleasant kind. Without any warning that odd-ass feeling in Sanji's chest erupted sharply, and he had to halt his downward journey when he realized tears were streaming from his eyes and his body was trembling to the breaking point. He had no fucking clue what this was, he'd never felt anything like it before, but all he could do was bury his face against Zoro's stomach, cling until his muscles begged for mercy, squeeze them together as close as they possibly could be, and cry. It might have been horrifically embarrassing, if that hot, strange feeling in his chest wasn't still radiating like his heart was overflowing with lava and too many emotions he didn't really understand, but knew he never wanted to stop feeling. He burrowed his face deeper into the sweat-and-saliva-streaked flesh, either trying to hide or because, inexplicably, the closer he was and the tighter their bodies pressed together, the better his chest felt, his lungs less choked with whatever this weird fullness was.

Drowning. It felt like drowning.

His breath gusted in hard, uneven sobs against the heated skin, and he heard a low moan from somewhere above him that was quickly bitten off. Rough fingers reached down and were combing gently through his blonde hair, pulling back the fringe that hid his left eye, and Sanji didn't even need to look up to know what he would see in the swordsman's eyes at that moment. It had been there countless times before, he'd seen it, but never really acknowledged it. So he kissed lovingly at the rock-hard stomach, an apology and a promise, and just as quickly as that overwhelming sensation had exploded, it ebbed away, not disappearing entirely, but at least Sanji's eyes weren't leaking ridiculous tears anymore.

Deciding that the time for teasing was well over with, Sanji didn't waste a second before wrapping a long hand around Zoro's huge dick, feeling the heat burn his palm and the blood pulsing fiercely. Pre-cum already seeped from the tip, and his tongue slid out again, lapping at the salty taste, earning a deep groan from the man beneath him and a slight jerk of the hips. The cook grinned wickedly, eyes flickering up to lock briefly with other man's gaze, dark and hooded with lust and something more real as Zoro propped himself on an elbow, watching Sanji's tongue lick slowly up his entire length. That hand never left blonde hair, massaging and squeezing as Sanji rethought the whole teasing thing. Light, tickling touches danced over the swordsman's throbbing length, never giving him enough of what he needed. The devilish tongue swept over the balls that hung heavily, streaking back up to leave one harsh lick at the sensitive head, nipping slightly and tasting another well-up of that tangy liquid, and before long Zoro was practically snarling something about tearing the cook's dick _off_ if he didn't quit fucking around like that, but the sentence was never actually finished. It broke off in the middle, the exact second that Sanji's mouth plunged down over the twitching cock, taking it as deep as he could on the first pass. The surprised cry of pleasure that was strangled from the swordsman nearly made Sanji come on the spot, and he groaned around the hard member hitting the back of his throat, feeling his own cock jerk with anticipation. . He'd never heard the other man make that kind of sound, not ever. It was intoxicating. Addicting.

He figured he'd make him do it some more.

Pursing his lips tightly, he slowly dragged his mouth back up, squeezing the hard flesh as it slipped from his mouth, rolling his tongue over the enflamed tip, before heading down again, letting teeth scrape ever so gently as he took the cock all the way in, throat muscles working as best as they could without making him gag. The thighs near his head were shivering almost violently as he continued his drawn-out torture, the swordsman's breath coming in such heavy pants it ruffled Sanji's sweat-drenched hair. His left hand squeezed and rubbed at Zoro's thigh, while his right mercilessly teased his balls, rivers of drool and pre-cum dripping from Sanji's mouth and wetting everything, making his touch slicker and all the more fleeting. The swordsman's hips rolled just barely, desperate for more, faster, but trying hard to let Sanji set the pace. Fingers clutched at his hair, constant moans of his name burning his gut white-hot, making him need as much as his lover needed, and suddenly Sanji was devouring the cock in his mouth, all torment and teasing thrown out the goddamn window. His head bobbed harder and quicker over Zoro's lap, taking him deep, massaging the tip with his throat as his tongue slid like lightening over the slick flesh, lips tight, demanding Zoro's release. Moans became low, guttural growls, muscles tensing and relaxing all around Sanji's head, breath hissing through bared teeth, and those fingers clutched hard enough to be painful, and just as Sanji hummed his eagerness, that hand slammed his head down 'till his nose was buried in green curls, the cock in his mouth jerking and spasming out of control, and the hot, sticky cum burned its way down the cook's throat, but he just moaned harder at the taste as he swallowed desperately, making Zoro snarl once before gently tugging Sanji off of his length.

Gasping, trying to even his breathing, Sanji looked down and had just enough time to smirk, impressed but a little guilty, at the sight of Zoro's cock still hard as steel, before his lover was pulling him back up for a slow, grateful kiss.

_Hmmm…_the cook thought, even as Zoro's tongue dragged across the roof of his mouth, chasing his own taste…_idiot must not have even jerked himself off those nine days. That's some severe dedication…baka probably tried to train it out of himself…_

_...wait a minute…._

He didn't know why, they weren't even related ideas at all, but somehow the thoughts of training and no-sex managed to cause some unresolved cogs that had been stewing in his brain for the last week to suddenly fall into place, bringing with them a vague, sneaking suspicion. And so Sanji broke the euphoric kiss to ask, without a trace of segue, "Why were you skipping meals, asshole?"

Zoro's eyebrows knit together, eyes still glazed and voice gurgling a bit in his throat. "Buh…?"

"You skipped meals for seven or eight days, shithead. Why?"

The swordsman blushed as the words sunk in, and Sanji decided it was the cutest damn thing he'd ever seen, and he would have taken the piss, if the other man didn't look so suddenly uncomfortable. "Well, it…it was kind of hard being around you, when I first decided to…call it quits."

Sanji arched an eyebrow at that. "So you skipped meals 'cuz you felt weird around me?"

"No, I felt the same way around you as I always did," Zoro said, seeming almost irritated by the fact. "But you weren't interested in…anything else, so I figured I'd just try to, I dunno, put all that shit behind me. So I stayed away from you for a while, fasted ─ stopped eating for a week; something physical like that would've made me focus on something else. But it's not like I just quit eating; I always planned to start up again after a week was over. And I did."

Sanji knew it wasn't fair of him to take any of that personally. After all, he'd probably put the poor bastard through hell, unwittingly treating him like no more than a convenient fuck for so long, not to mention some of the heinous shit he'd said when he had gotten a little too desperate. Sanji knew he didn't have any fucking right, but…the fact that Zoro had tried so damn hard to forget about his feelings for the cook sort of stung. A lot actually. He had no right but…damn.

"You were training yourself to get over me…" Sanji was pretty ashamed at how meek and hurt he'd managed to sound.

But Zoro just scoffed. "Yeah, not like it fucking worked anyway." When Sanji failed to be comforted by that, the swordsman chuckled, his face softening as he moved in and brushed his lips against Sanji's ear, whispering, "And I'm glad for that, shit-cook."

"Like I care," the blonde groused, but all the unpleasantness had vanished abruptly, and he couldn't help but grin down at the big moron under him. How did Zoro know all the right ways to piss him off to the point of contemplating homicide, and still say all the right things that make him forget why he hates the asshole in the first place? It didn't seem fair, but Sanji wasn't really disposed to give a shit.

With a smile that made Sanji's heart trip, the swordsman pulled him into another kiss, soft at first, slow and meaningful. The fire kicked back in before long, and soon teeth dragged at swollen flesh and tongues rolled and tugged at each other, struggling for the upper hand, as their lower bodies started rocking together, friction coiling in Sanji's gut and making him gasp, making him kiss more ferociously, making him need Zoro all over again.

Their cocks, slick with saliva and pre-cum slid together, and Sanji felt those wonderful hands trail down his sides, eliciting hums and purrs from the blonde, before they gripped at his ass, squeezing, and Sanji groaned and rocked harder into Zoro. He couldn't get the leverage he wanted, though, being draped over the swordsman like he was, but he didn't want to move, didn't want to ask Zoro for anything else, even though he knew they both wanted it.

But Zoro was obviously thinking the same thing, or at least something similar, as he reached his arm behind them, clawing blindly at the edge of the blankets and pulling out a small vial from its perpetual hiding place. He held it up, mumbling, "How do you ─ mmmh…" Sanji interrupted him with a kiss, because he fucking could, "How do you want to do this?"

And despite how much they'd done this very thing in the past, Sanji still had the grace to blush at the question.

"Uh…like this is fine…"

"Top or bottom?"

His face was about the temperature of molten lava, he was sure, 'cuz it definitely felt that way, and he knew it was pretty dumb of him to be this embarrassed, but some last vestiges of his Male Pride still made him hesitant to voice his obvious preference of positions. Plus, he was irritated that he couldn't quit feeling like such a bastard, because _this_ bastard was being to goddamned _courteous_ about everything, and that was a word that really should never be applied to Zoro, at least not during sex, and Sanji _swore to all things holy_ that if he felt one more flicker of guilt over this whole thing, he was gonna force himself to get real intimate with the ocean floor.

"Oi, dumbass?" Zoro broke through the cook's cloud of freak-out. "It isn't that hard of a question. If you're _that_ conflicted, I'll bottom, I don't give a shit." He unstopped the vial and poured some of the cool, slick liquid onto his fingers. "But you're givin' me blue balls just sitting there with that blank look on your stupid face, and I don't really feel like waiting."

Sanji watched with stunned amazement as those glistening fingers traveled beneath them, and he could only assume where they had gone, and suddenly Zoro's breath hitched and there was a deep stain of red across his tanned skin, his mouth hanging slightly open, and Sanji's ignored cock was twitching desperately at the sight. But, and he hated thinking about sex in terms of justice, since that seemed like a weird thing to do anyway, he couldn't help but feel that this somehow wasn't _fair_. Plus he…he maybe sort of _liked_ being bottom. Maybe he had this thing about relinquishing control to someone else, since he mostly maintained control in every other aspect of life, and the bedroom was the one place he ever really let go. Maybe it was a little_ fucking important_ to him that those roles didn't change. Whatever. He just knew he didn't want it like this.

"Oi, dumbass," Sanji growled low, grabbing Zoro's arm and stilling his rather distracting movement. "Did I say I wanted to top?"

"You weren't really saying much of anything, shit-for-brains," Zoro growled right back, his voice hoarse and croaked, and _fuck_ Sanji was pretty sure his cock would explode if they didn't do something now. He pulled at the swordsman's hand sharply, hearing the quiet squelching noise that sent violent shudders up his spine, followed by a strangled snarl from the man beneath him and a, "Watch it, bastard!"

Sanji then guided that still-slick hand behind him, blushing more than he'd ever admit as he silently asked for Zoro's touch. He leaned in close, naked abdomens rubbing together teasingly, causing little half moans from both of them. "I want to be on top," he whispered in Zoro's ear, voice wavering as thick, wet fingers probed questioningly at his entrance. "I want to be on top…with you in me."

A dangerous sound rumbled from somewhere deep in the swordsman's chest; Sanji felt it vibrating through his own ribs, and there were suddenly teeth sinking into his throat as a single, lubricated digit pressed through the tight ring of muscle to plunge into the cook's heat, and Sanji jerked hard, crying out as his hips rocked slightly, knees squeezing at Zoro's waist as his hands gripped firm shoulders. It burned, but not overwhelmingly, and soon he felt a different kind of burn blaze white-hot in his gut, and he panted, cock hanging heavy between his spread legs, as a wet tongue slid over the new bruise on his neck. The finger inside him started moving, slowly back and forth, Sanji's hips following it helplessly. That tongue dipped teasingly into his ear.

Sanji shivered.

Another finger joined the first.

Sanji's head collapsed onto Zoro's chest and he whimpered.

The fingers crooked just right, brushing at that one spot…

"Ah _fuck_!" Like a switch being flipped, Sanji's hips started snapping desperately, all composure shattered, and he thrust himself backwards even as those wonderful digits thrust forwards, Zoro sucking and nipping at his collarbone, Sanji's cock positively drooling on the swordsman's hard stomach. He moaned low and constant with every fleeting graze of fingertips over his sensitive nerves, and he knew he was close, but held it back as much as he could. He knew something better was about to happen.

Zoro grunted just then, and Sanji dazedly realized that he was lubing his thick cock, and the cook moaned loudly again at the sight, rolling his hips against the two fingers still buried inside. Zoro usually worked him up to three before removing his hand, but both of them were too close to the edge, and it had been too fucking long, and Sanji would have honestly torn Zoro's throat out if he denied the cook the bone-melting fuck he was craving worse than nicotine.

He whined softly as the fingers were removed, strong hands moving to grasp his bony hips to keep him steady, while the cook's own hand reached beneath him, feeling out his lover's hard cock and getting into position. Sanji bit his lip when the throbbing head kissed his entrance, and taking a deep breath, he impaled himself on Zoro's member, taking it all in on one go.

They both cried out at the sensation, Zoro gnawing his cheek to keep from coming, Sanji squeezing his eyes against the sharp spear of pain and unbelievable heat and the _ohfuckinghellshityes! _feeling of being utterly filled for the first time in way too long. Breath coming in heaving, almost painful gasps, Sanji fell forward, laying his forehead in the curve of Zoro's muscular neck, groaning as the pulsing dick inside him shifted slightly. Zoro pressed his forehead against Sanj's temple, breathing hotly into sweat-soaked hair.

"Fuck, Sanji…" Light kisses pressed against his burning skin. "F-fuck…"

"Nnnngh…" Words were lost on Sanji, disappearing into an unimportant haze, and the only thing that mattered was that Sanji _had _to nip at the strong neck, trail fervent, wet kisses over every inch of flesh he could reach, desperately asking for more, _now_!

And Zoro, unwaveringly, obliged.

The swordsman rocked his hips experimentally, seeing just how relaxed Sanji was. The cook gripped at muscled arms hard enough to bruise, mouth panting into Zoro's ear, loving the sharp little flutters of pleasure that sparked across his skin, pooling in his gut, slowly, too slow, almost like some kind of delicious torture. But soon it wasn't enough, and Sanji found himself biting at Zoro's shoulder hard and growling for something deeper. And suddenly those hips beneath him snapped up hard, and Sanji's vision flashed white. "Ah! Oh _god_!"

Hands gripped his hips punishingly, dragging his ass down, even while Zoro thrust up, sliding his dick as far as it would go, the tip brushing against that unbelievable spot inside the cook. Already Sanji felt like he couldn't breathe, like his heart would just explode, and he knew he wouldn't last long; not with the inferno raging through his body, fire and electricity rushing in his veins, and the deep, guttural moans that poured from the burning body underneath him, twisting that fire so it sunk deep, like a blade, and he couldn't help it, he cried loudly.

"Oh shit…Z-Zoro, oh god, oh _fuck_…ah!"

Sanji felt a feral noise rip through the swordsman's chest, rumbling below the surface, and before his mind could even catch up, those hands slid lower, clamping down hard on his ass. Zoro slammed into him, faster and harder, spurred into a frenzy as Sanji moaned and writhed above him, dragging his swollen, blood-dark cock against the ridges of the other man's toned stomach. And Sanji gave up on composure, gave up on trying to last, and he welcomed the steadily growing tide of pleasure as it roiled through his gut.

Zoro's hands squeezed unbearably, spreading Sanji's ass even wider, fucking him with lightening speed while the cook's arms latched around his neck and he pressed his face against the slick, warm flesh. The sound of skin slapping skin was so loud in the otherwise still room, Sanji barely heard himself warbling, "I want you, I want you, I want you," over and over into the swordsman's ear, whimpering and choking on noises that were half sobs and half deep, desperate moans.

"Sanji ─ ugh! ─ Sanji, I'm─" Zoro panted, blunt nails digging harder into the smooth muscular flesh in his grip, "I'm…fuck…"

No more words, just low, snarling groans and vicious thrusts into Sanji's tight heat, pummeling that sweet spot exquisitely, so hard tears leaked from his eyes and dripped onto Zoro's cheek, but Sanji didn't care, felt the edge rising, and rocked himself back as roughly as he could, loving the bliss and utter ecstasy of having his spine liquefied, the feel of being so full of everything he wanted and needed and couldn't live without. Zoro's rhythm fell apart, and Sanji screamed, shivering, unraveling and falling apart fast.

"Ah ah ah, I ─ oh, oh fuck ─ _Zoro_," Sanji shuddered violently, so close, snapping his ass down as hard as he could, searching for that completion. "I can't─I…I'm gonna…gonna─AH!"

Clutching so tightly at the swordsman's neck he was surprised he hadn't choked him to death, Sanji's jaw fell slack, loud, wanton yells of pleasure getting louder and louder with each slam home of the twitching cock in his ass, his chest heaving, pressed against the sweaty chest beneath him, Zoro grunting like a beast, and he couldn't─_fuck!_ ─ he couldn't last, the heat spiked sharply, spearing his gut, lifting his balls, pulsing so hard and…and…

"Sanji!" Zoro growled, ramming up and burying his cock as deep as he could.

"Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck ZORO_!" White speared through Sanji's vision, bright and blinding, and then washed with red as every nerve in his body shorted out, muscles seized, brain overloaded with the most perfect…perfect…_oh god_!

Floating. It felt like floating.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In. Out. Back. Forth. Breathing was pretty much settled, in time to the wafting shallows against the hull, and Sanji figured he hadn't felt like this before in his entire nineteen-almost-twenty years of living. His ass had probably seen better days, and he'd be feeling it in the morning, but he couldn't get rid of that weird fullness in his chest, and the future pain didn't seem important anymore.

No words were spoken during their post-coital euphoria, or even afterwards. Sanji wasn't surprised, and didn't really mind. Zoro was retarded anyway, and conversations weren't his strong point. But he did stay awake long after his lover's snores began rumbling in his ear, wondering. Wondering why, exactly, Zoro was okay with everything. Wondering why the swordsman hadn't needed a long, heart-felt confession from Sanji, or at least some sort of explanation. Wondering why all he had needed was to look in Sanji's eyes, to feel the emotion and fire behind his kiss, to know how badly Sanji needed him. To know how much Sanji had regretted what he'd done, and how much he wanted another chance. And Zoro had accepted that, needed no retribution, no promises of faith, needed nothing more than Sanji. And he honestly wondered why that was…

The voice in his head that sounded like Nami was about to inform him of what an idiot he was, but this time, Sanji beat her to it. He was an idiot and he knew it, but he was learning, at least.

No words were spoken in the quiet hum of the ship as the two men lay curled together on the stack of old blankets in the corner of the dusty storage room. And Sanji thought it was kinda odd that he didn't need any reassurances or soothing sentiments after stepping off his cliff, and he was about to wonder about that, too, except that he was finally starting to catch on to this whole strange, wonderful business, and the voice in his head figured it was about damn time.

In his own way, he figured Zoro had been right about words. Words were obtrusive, and heavy-handed, and way too limiting. Not everything could be expressed to their fullest with words; trying to define something could cheapen its beauty and meaning. And this, Sanji decided as he nuzzled into his lover's solid warmth, was much too important to fuck up with stupid words.

Besides. The fingers absently trailing through his hair and the light scratch of stitches against Sanji's bare side were more of an _I love you_ than any "I love you," could ever hope to be.

* * *

Hee heee...not quite done yet...;)

* * *


	9. Epilogue

**TITLE**: The Way to a Man's Heart

**AUTHOR**: endsoftime

**PAIRING**: ZoroxSanji

**RATING**:R, for the naughty words...

**NOTES**: Nada es miyo. Y estoy triste...

* * *

"It's fine."

Sanji's eyebrow ticked as he lit a cigarette with less-than-steady fingers.

"Like hell it is."

A long-suffering sigh. "Cook, I said it was fine. Chopper already stitched me up. No big deal."

Sanji let out a tight breath of smoke, glaring hard at the wood floor of the infirmary and refusing to make eye contact with his bandaged lover lying on the cot across the small room. Shoulders hunched, slight tremble in his limbs, and he never said a word.

Silence.

"…Cook?"

"You're such a fucking moron," he muttered.

Low growl, less angry than annoyed. "What was that?"

The blonde's head snapped up, that one visible eye furious and strained with something Sanji would _never_ admit was worry.

"What kind of goddamned 'World's Greatest Swordsman' gets his ass handed to him by a fucking Sea King!?"

Zoro parried with a glare of his own. "When I have to shove trembling, pants-pissing sharpshooters out of the way of stingers the size of goddamn harpoons, then yeah, it's been known to happen, asshole!"

"That's a lame fucking excuse for not dodging the fucking thing before it _impaled your fucking shoulder_! For shit's sake, Zoro, it almost severed your goddamn arm!"

"_Almost_. It didn't. And Fuzz-Ball's a miracle worker, anyway. It's no big deal."

Sanji's brow spasmed again under a particularly overworked vein.

"No. Big. _Deal_!?" he hissed, cigarette snapping in half between grinding teeth.

Like a tightly coiled spring, the cook exploded across the room, pouncing on Zoro and grabbing his strong chin in an unforgiving grip, seething a murderous aura.

"So it's no big fucking deal to you if you _lose an arm_? One of your _precious weapons_? Tell me, Zoro, 'cuz I'm dying to know: how well does santōryū work when you only have one _fucking arm_!?"

Zoro snarled, his good hand lashing out and snagging a handful of the cook's shirt, yanking him down hard, nose-to-nose.

"Well, I don't have only one arm, dumbass! I'm fine! So quit dwelling on some shit that didn't even happen!"

Sanji's heated gaze wavered slightly, something more desperate and embarrassing seeping through as he stared into those confident eyes, so he clenched his teeth and lowered his head, shaking his bangs over his face.

But Zoro just sighed, and eventually grinned .

"Know what, baka-cook?" he asked softer, releasing his fierce hold on the silk shirt, trailing his hand up over that sexy collarbone, over the pale throat, to cup the back of Sanji's head, fingers twisting in soft hair.

Sanji felt the familiar heat of that rough hand travel down his neck, across his shoulders, somehow worming it's way past his ribs, relaxing some weird knot he'd had in the area his heart tended to be. Daring to glance up, the cook's gaze was nailed by those calm, velvet-black eyes, and he saw that grin on Zoro's face, and no, it did _not_ make him swoon. He was a man. Men don't swoon. Unless women were involved. Which they weren't. That annoying fluttering in his gut was nausea at having to look at the shit-swordsman's ugly mug. Definitely….

…well, maybe…

…shit.

Sanji was fucked. He also hadn't answered yet.

"What, aho-marimo?" he said, his voice also much calmer, less angry and tense.

The grin became a _smile_.

Sanji tried to ignore the gentle heat that lazily bloomed in his gut and gathered across his cheeks.

Then slowly, that welcoming hand pulled the cook down, closer, and Sanji felt warm breath ghost over his ear as a nose nuzzled his blonde hair, and his heart stuttered slightly, tongue darting out to wet his lips even though he knew he shouldn't start anything, had in fact promised Chopper that they _wouldn't_ start anything, although Chopper's concept of "anything" was probably not quite what Sanji now had in mind. But the warmth spreading through his body was pleasant and the closeness was soothing, and Sanji was beginning to forget what, exactly, he'd been so strung out over.

A faint chuckle against his skin.

"You're cute when you worry."

Nice fuzzy feelings evaporated like a water-well in Arabasta.

Sanji felt a different heat blaze through his limbs that had nothing to do with crazy-tender-marimo feelings, and everything to do with hateful-ass-kicking-marimo feelings. Often Sanji couldn't tell the difference.

Zoro never could.

Especially when the first kick landed in his gut.

"Fuck you, asshole!"

"Not now, anyway. Maybe when the stitches come out ─"

"Fucking die!"

"And leave you all alone? No one else will put up with your pansy ass."

"RAAAAGH!" Sanji growled dangerously, gnashing his teeth in frustration at not being able to beat the shit out the bastard like he deserved, and turned sharply on his heel.

Zoro snickered as his seething cook stormed across the room, muttering venomously, and wrenched the infirmary door open. "Love you!" the swordsman called the second Sanji stepped out on the deck.

"Fucking love you too, shitty marimo!"

The door slammed shut.

An eerie silence swallowed the _Going Merry_ suddenly. Zoro gave it five seconds.

It only took two.

"WAAAAHAHAHAHAAAA!! SANJI SAID HE LOVED ZORO!!"

"WHAT!? ZORO AND SANJI ARE GAY!? I thought Sanji liked women, but maybe he swings both ways ─ er…n-not th-th-th-that there's a-anything wr-wr-wrong with that, you know…"

"I'LL FUCKING RIP THAT NOSE OFF, SHITTY-GOGGLE-BOY!!"

"SANJI LOVES ZORO! SANJI LOVES ZORO!"

"What the hell is all this racket?!"

"Captain-san, I believe Cook-san said, 'I love you too,' which would mean Swordsman-san said it first."

"Oh Robin, don't encourage them…"

"AAAAAAGH! SANJI'S REALLY MAD!!"

"HOLD STILL, FUCKING SHARP-SHOOTER!!"

"AIIIIIIIII!! SAVE ME!!"

"Doctor-san, shouldn't you be hiding _behind_ the crate?"

"SANJI LOVES ZORO!! ZORO LOVES SANJI!! Oi, Sanji when is lunch? I'm staarving!"

Zoro merely laughed to himself and pillowed his good arm under his head. So it was finally out in the open. Not like it would have stayed secret for long, what with the cook's overactive libido and Luffy's penchant for barreling through doors – locked or otherwise. So finding he didn't really give a damn, Zoro merely drifted off to the oddly soothing sound of his nakama's screams and crashes and whimpers.

Sanji'd probably give Zoro two days of recovery before kicking his ass.

It was definitely love.

* * *

Heh heh...(rubs head nervously)...it's been awhile, neh? Sorry! This is the official end, everybody! But just you wait! I've got some more lovelies in store for you!


End file.
